After All
by Indigo Kitti
Summary: When Harry is thrown abruptly into the future, he’s desperate to find a way back to his own time – even if that means having to work with Draco Malfoy. Warning: This story contains HBP spoilers. HD slash
1. For everything there is a season,

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is not mine. Unfortunately.

**Warnings:** Slash

**Author's Notes:** I know, I know - I started _another_ story! Rest assured, I've not abandoned any of my olds ones. This story will be about fifteen chapters (not including the prologue) long, and will be updated about once a week. Many thanks to my beta, **Daniella Flux**, for putting up with the slash, and to the good people over at The Hex Files for helping a girl out.

**After All **

**Prologue: In Which We See Illustrated the Importance Improvisation Skills**

_For everything there is a season  
- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8_

If you asked Draco Malfoy what he was doing outside the famed 'Burrow', last known residence of one Harry Potter, he would not have been able to tell you. Still, standing in the gnome-infested yard while snow fell wet from the sky before melting on the ground, he raised his fist and knocked firmly once, twice, three times.

There was a sudden silence on the other side of the door, and Draco could only imagine the whispered conversation the inhabitants of the hovel were having.

_'Who in their right mind would come calling on Christmas Eve?'_ someone would hiss worriedly as they put down a half-finished garland of freshly-popped popcorn.

_'It must be important,'_ a more rational voice would insist, cautiously standing, and creeping towards the unlined curtains that covered the windows.

_'Or a Death Eater,'_ someone would say darkly, perhaps Potter himself. Draco had read that the world's Wonder Boy had become even more brooding since the final battle between he and Voldemort a mere ten years ago.

Personally, Draco had bought an apartment in New York, and lived day to day hoping his father and/or mother wouldn't cut off his access to the family vaults, or re-write their wills. Luckily, they hadn't, and now that Narcissa was dead, killed while fighting Aurors in Manchester, and Lucius had been declared legally insane, Draco was the sole owner of the Malfoy fortune, executor of both his parent's legacies, and owner one of the darkest plots of land in all of England – Malfoy Manor.

Which was exactly why he was looking for, of all people, Harry Potter.

The door to the ramshackle house in front of him creaked open, drawing Draco's attention back to the real world; the real world where a woman with short, red hair was standing in front of him with an elegantly plucked and raised eyebrow.

Looking at her, Draco found himself thinking that she was out of place in her surroundings. Ginny Weasley had grown into the kind of woman he was accustomed to seeing in nouvelle restaurants wearing severe black and white suits with low cut blouses, high heels, and chic little purses. Instead, she was bundled in multiple jumpers with a badly knit scarf wound round her neck and wearing on her head something that resembled a woolly bladder, but Draco presumed was meant to be a winter hat.

'I need to speak to Harry Potter,' Draco said after a moment. Privately, he thought that his chances of finding him had just improved, if the way Potter and Ginny Weasley had been attached at the lips during their sixth year at Hogwarts was any indication.

'And just who are you?' she asked rudely, before being hauled out of the doorway by two other women.

'Never mind her,' said the first, a pregnant brunette with a head full of bushy hair Draco recognized instantly. 'It's what comes from a first pregnancy.' The woman patted her own burgeoning stomach with pride. 'She's only three months along, you can hardly tell.'

Draco had never, in all his years at Hogwarts, imagined Hermione Granger to be the type to sit quietly at home, knitting and popping out babies year after year. She had always seemed like the type to have one or two children, enough for a decent sized family at least, and then continue on with her career. Maybe he was reading too much into the situation.

'I'm afraid I don't recognize you either, though.' She turned to the second woman, a shapely blonde, and asked: 'Is he someone you know?'

The woman shook her head, blonde hair cascading around her shoulders in a manner Draco was certain he would have found attractive had he not been a) freezing and b) very, very gay.

''Ee iz not a friend of mine,' the woman said, her French accent strong. 'I theenk 'ee can tell us 'ou 'ee iz?' She looked at him enquiringly, momentarily highlighting the faint lines around her eyes.

Draco sighed, and barely resisted the urge to massage his temples. He knew that he had changed since leaving Hogwarts in his sixth year. Everyone had, judging by Hermione Granger's expectant mother glow, and Ginny Weasley's out of place elegance, but this was quickly becoming ridiculous.

When he had first arrived back in England, Draco had set off to see his old friend Pansy Parkinson, only to find that she now went by the name of Pansy Wood, and was a rising star in the fashion industry. Even Pansy had taken considerable persuasion and whispered secrets to believe that the blue-haired man in front of her was really her childhood friend.

Sometimes, Draco had trouble believing it himself.

'My name is Hugh,' Draco supplied quickly, not wanting to spend an hour proving his identity only to be turned out on his arse again. 'I need to find Harry Potter. Quite badly.'

Granger and the French woman gave him a final once over before opening the old door fully. 'Come in,' said the French woman. 'Seet on zee couch, 'Arry should be 'ere soon.'

'Merci,' Draco said with a small smile. 'Comment vous appelez-vous?'

'Je m'appelle Fleur Delacour-Weasley,' Fleur replied kindly. 'Eet iz good to meet you.'

Draco nodded, and tried to contain his surprise. When last he had seen Fleur, she had been competing in the Tri Wizard Tournament alongside Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory, and Viktor Krum.

Draco was lead into a cluttered sitting room filled to the brim with red headed children and adults, although there were a few brunettes sprinkled liberally in the mix, and he was certain there was at least one more person with a hair color as improbable as his own in the far corner.

'Sit here. When Harry arrives someone will tell him you're here,' Granger said pleasantly. 'Help yourself to some – Frederica, Georgina, those better not be real frogs! – Eggnog while you wait.' She turned in the direction to which her motherly warning had been shouted, but Draco reached out desperately and grabbed a limb.

'Wait,' he said. 'Do you know if he has a diary or keeps a schedule?'

Granger looked puzzled, but shook her head. 'No, he doesn't keep either, although he should, what with all the meetings he constantly has to rush off to – why?'

Draco sighed, and stood. 'I don't think he'll be coming tonight. Could I trouble you for some Floo powder, and his address?'

Granger's expression grew incredulous. 'He hasn't missed a Christmas at the Burrow since –' She was abruptly cut off as someone tumbled through the fireplace, and a cheer erupted in the crowd. 'That will be him,' she shot Draco an 'I told you so' look he remembered vividly from Arithmancy. 'I'll go fetch him, you wait here.'

Draco sighed, and slumped into the chair Granger had led him to. If Potter were here then Draco was probably wasting his time and needed to completely re-evaluate the situation and all the clues he had which had pointed him in Potter's direction. The most obvious clue being the two names scrawled in blood on the floor of the Malfoy dining room.

Potter and Granger were cutting through the crowd like a hot knife through butter, and Draco found his mind speeding to create a suitable cover story; anything besides the truth.

'Hello,' Potter said once he'd reached Draco, and Granger had melted into the background noise. Potter spoke with the air of someone meeting an old school chum who one doesn't remember in the slightest. 'Hermione tells me you came here to see me.' Potter's eyes drifted to where Granger was leaning against a tall, red-haired man before focusing on her very pregnant belly.

Draco smiled.

'How did you know where to be today, Potter?' Draco asked amicably, knowing that he sounded nothing like he had when he and Potter had gone to school. After all, it stood to reason that his accent would have faded after all those years in America. Still, Draco was gratified to see Potter's eyes widen in recognition.

_'Malfoy?'_ he asked incredulously.

Draco nodded. 'The one and only, Potter. Now, how did you know you needed to be here today?'

'I – I spend every Christmas at the Burrow, Malfoy. It's not a new experience.'

'Let me rephrase,' Draco sneered. 'How did you know today was Christmas?'

Potter looked so baffled that for a second Draco actually believed that the other man had no idea what he was talking about, but for a moment fear flitted across Potter's face, and Draco knew he _had_ to be right.

'You're not alone, Potter,' Draco said amicably. 'Owl me tonight. We're in this together.'

Draco smiled, tucked a strand of blue hair behind his ear, and Disapparated.

XoX

Draco opened his eyes – Apparition always made him feel a bit queasy if he didn't have them closed – and reached into the pocket of his leather jacket for his notebook. Flipping it open and taking out a self-inking quill, Draco penned a question mark next to Potter's name.

Potter's and his weren't the only ones that were on the list, weren't the only ones that had been etched in blood on the Malfoy dining room. It pained him a bit to look at the list, mostly because he and Potter seemed to be the only people from it who had managed to live as long as they had. Although, Percy Weasley was technically alive – just in a seemingly irreversible coma.

Sighing, Draco strode from the Apparition room of the manor, and wound through the halls and rooms, headed for the dining room to decode more of the complex spell on the floor. He'd never seen anything like it – at least, he was _pretty_ certain he'd never seen anything like it.

Draco wasn't really_ certain_ of anything anymore. Ten years ago he had moved to New York City. He had bought a flat and spent a year creating a new life for himself, and last he remembered, had taken a pain-killing potion, and passed out, which seemed odd because the potion was supposed to prevent things like that.

When he'd woken up, eyelids heavy, sprawled across a king-sized bed in a penthouse apartment, he'd been quite surprised. You see, Draco remembered taking the potion in 1997 – eight years earlier.

And that was precisely the problem. He'd been pulled into the future, and it appeared that Harry Potter had been too.


	2. And a time for every matter under heaven

**Chapter One: In Which Two Ends Won't Meet **

_And a time for every matter under heaven  
__- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 _

Harry Potter had awoken one day, and had no idea where he was. The last thing he could remember was buying a drink from… well, from a bar somewhere, and knocking the whole thing back at once.

At first, he thought it was just his usual hangover haze, but then he noticed that the rooms he were in weren't his, what he could see of his body was significantly larger, and Hedwig was staring at him from a suspiciously familiar perch in the corner.

His first act upon getting out of bed was to go into the bathroom in search of a mirror. His second had been to look for something with a date on it – well, technically his second had been to scream, but he was trying to forget about that. He'd found a crumpled Daily Prophet in the rubbish bin, but it had turned out to be from the previous week. Still, it gave him the year, which was -- horrifyingly enough -- eight years in the future from his last memory.

His first thought was that he'd been in a coma, but a quick search of the suite he apparently lived in showed that he did, indeed, live in it. It also revealed that he taught Transfigurations at Hogwarts, and had at least twenty essays to mark.

Upon finding out the _actual_ date on a small, Chudley Cannons desk calendar, Harry spent a moment contemplating the best course of action before deciding that he might as well try to mark his students essays – he'd completed his schooling until sixth year after all, and if there were any seventh year essays in the pile he could save them for later – and settling in to work. As he underlined mistakes on what turned out to be a third year Ravenclaw named Maria Boot's essay, Harry contemplated his options.

He knew when he was (which sounded odd, but was the only way he could find to put it) and he knew _where_ he was, which might have been slightly more important. Now, if only he could figure out why he'd never listened to Hermione's advice and kept a calendar. People in movies _always_ had a calendar lying around to tell them where and when they were supposed to be. Of course, people in movies generally also found newspapers that weren't a week old.

It was, he supposed, what came from being Harry Potter.

Sighing, Harry looked down, and swore. Maria Boot's essay was now covered in red swirls, very few of them resembling anything he'd seen his own teachers scrawl across an essay. Well, a Ravenclaw's essay anyway. Snape had been known to carve frustrated squiggles into many Gryffindor's and Hufflepuff's earliest attempts at Potion's essays.

Harry's head dropped into his hands. Who was he trying to fool? Obviously, he was screwed.

XoX

A week later, Harry tumbled out of an old fireplace into the middle of one of the busiest Christmas parties he'd ever hoped he'd been invited too. He'd waited for hours for someone to Floo him, yelling at him for missing a date or being late, but when the call never came, ha had taken a chance, and tried for The Burrow. Judging by the spontaneous cheer that erupted when he arrived, he'd guessed correctly.

As soon as he had stood, a _very_ pregnant Hermione had waddled up to him, smiling, and told him that Hugh was waiting for him by the door.

_Hugh?_ he thought. _Who the bloody hell is Hugh?_

Smiling back and trying unsuccessfully to keep his eyes off Hermione's belly, Harry followed her over to an attractive young man with blue hair looking very out of place in one of the oldest chairs in the Weasley's house.

'Hello,' Harry said, hoping he didn't sound completely clueless. 'Hermione tells me you're here to see me.' Which, he realized after he said it, wasn't what Hermione had said at all.

'How'd you know where to be today, Potter?' the man asked amicably. Harry had to hold in a gasp of utter astonishment. Standing in front of him – no, in _The Burrow_, home to Weasleys everywhere – casual as you please, was _Draco Malfoy_. With an accent, and blue hair.

_'Malfoy?'_ he asked incredulously.

Malfoy nodded in an all-together-too-amused fashion. 'The one and only, Potter. Now, how did you know you needed to be here today?'

'I – I spend every Christmas at The Burrow, Malfoy. It's not a new experience,' he managed to stutter, trying to hide his surprise.

'Let me rephrase,' Malfoy sneered. 'How did you know today was Christmas?'

Harry's mind was reeling. Of _course_ Malfoy knew, he was obviously the one who'd pulled him to the future.

Malfoy smiled like a cat that'd gotten away with eating the canary. 'You're not alone, Potter. Owl me tonight. We're in this together.'

Malfoy gave him a superior look, tucked a strand of blue hair behind his ear, and Disapparated.

'Harry?' A hand landed on his shoulder.

Harry jumped and turned. 'You scared me!' he laughed, and was about to say something else when he noticed _who_ had grabbed his shoulder. 'Ginny.'

Ginny smiled, which surprised Harry somewhat because in _his_ time he and Ginny had just broken up… again, and smiling was probably the _last_ thing she wanted to do to him.

'We almost started dinner without you!' she exclaimed in a way that made Harry wonder if she'd been at the egg-nog early. 'Who was that _nasty_ American boy who came calling for you, Harry?'

'You didn't recognize him?' Harry asked, surprised.

'I don't know anyone named _Hugh_,' Ginny said, wrinkling her nose. 'Least of all an _American._'

'He's not strictly American,' Harry explained. 'I think he just lived there for a while or something. He went to school with us, Ginny. You honestly don't recognize him?'

Ginny shook her head. 'No, but Harry… don't get involved with him, all right? He's a bad sort. A woman always knows.'

'What?'

'Don't let him charm you into his bed with his American wiles, Harry,' Ginny said seriously.

'I – what?' Harry had broken things off with Ginny, certainly, but he couldn't recall telling _anyone_ about his attraction for his own sex.

'I saw the way he looked at you, all appraising like. Never trust a man who wears a cravat, mum always said,' Ginny said firmly, tucking her arm through his. Harry tried to remember if Malfoy had been wearing a cravat. 'Take me to Hermione and Phlegm. We must protect you from _Hugh_, if that _is_ his real name.'

Harry thought better of telling her she was, at least, right about the name thing.

XoX

Sitting with Hermione, Fleur, and Ginny, Harry learned an awful lot about what he'd been doing, and what had happened, in the last eight years. For example, Hermione was nearing the end of her second pregnancy, Ginny had just started her first, and Fleur had sworn off kids after _her _first because of how fat she looked pregnant.

'The 'ormones,' Fleur purred, managing to make the word sound incredibly dirty. 'I did not like them at all, 'Arry. They are what make Ginny act so… strangely, no?'

Hermione put down her knitting and huffed at Fleur. 'Don't be so negative, Fleur. Children are wonderful things, and being pregnant is a _learning_ experience for everybody.'

Which, Harry thought bemusedly, was an extremely _Hermione_ thing to say.

'So Harry,' Hermione said with a content smile. 'Who _was_ the American bloke? He seemed dead set on seeing you. When I told him you weren't here yet he wanted _Floo powder_!'

'Er…' Harry said, glancing cautiously at Ginny. 'No one.'

Hermione and Fleur raised their eyebrows in tandem. 'Are you sure, Harry?' Hermione asked. 'He seemed like your type.'

'_Hermione_!' Harry exclaimed.

'Oh come on, mate,' a red head giant he assumed was Ron said, coming up behind Hermione and wrapping his arms around her. 'You know how she gets when she's pregnant; she wants _everybody_ to settle down. Remember last time with Seamus?' Ron chuckled, and Harry smiled weakly.

'Oh hush,' Hermione cooed. 'Is it a sin to want to see my best friend happy?'

'Not everybody wants a white picket fence, Hermione,' Remus said, coming up behind the cuddling couple with his arm slung over Tonks' shoulders. Harry was relieved to see that very little had changed there. Tonks' hair was still pink, Remus' hair had gotten greyer since the last time Harry had seen him – admittedly, eight years in the past – and neither of them wore wedding bands.

As the conversation went on around him Harry began to realize that he really _was_ over his head here, and an ally – even an ally with the last name _Malfoy_ – would be ceaselessly helpful. 'Hermione,' he said. 'Could I borrow something to write with and something to write on? I think I'm going to owl Hugh.'

Hermione nodded, turned a triumphant smile on everybody else, and motioned for Harry to follow her.

'Oh, Harry,' she said as the two of them walked through The Burrow, dodging children and animals as they went. 'An _American_! You simply _must_ bring him to the New Year's party!'

'Er,' Harry said. 'Yes. The New Year's party. Where is it again?'

Hermione gave him a funny look, but didn't question his apparent forgetfulness. 'At Creaver's of course,' she said. 'And try to wear appropriate clothing, Harry. I know you don't like dressing up, but it's _really_ important that we all make a good impression on all the Ministry officials who're going to be there.'

'Of course,' Harry said dutifully, wondering what he'd done in the past eight years to make Hermione so nervous about what he'd wear to a black tie event.

Hermione made a doubting noise in the back of her throat, and swung a door open. Harry couldn't remember The Burrow having its own separate letter writing room/owlery, but eight years _was_ a long time.

Harry picked up a quill, and a scrap of paper. 'Where do you think I should ask him to meet?' he asked Hermione. After all, who knew what shops were, and were not, still around?

'How about the new restaurant in Diagon Alley you were raving about the other day? The one in Florean Fortescue's old spot?'

'Oh,' Harry said. 'Yes, of course.' Dipping the quill in ink, he scrawled a quick message to Malfoy, asking him to meet around noon on Boxing Day in Diagon Alley, and … stopped. 'Which owl should I use?' he asked Hermione. None of the three owls sitting on an overly large perch in the centre of the room looked familiar.

'Use Starr,' Hermione said. 'I should get back to the party, Harry. Who _knows_ what sort of trouble Georgina and Fredericka have gotten into with me out of the room!'

Harry smiled like he knew what she was talking about, and watched her leave with trepidation.

Turning to the owls, Harry raised an eyebrow. 'So,' he said. 'Which of you is Starr? Come on, there's probably a gourmet owl treat in it for you. I'm sure Malfoy has a ton of them. And think of all the pedigree owls you can flirt with when you get there.'

The three owls gave him thoroughly unimpressed looks.

'Right. If you don't step forward, Starr, I'll have to Summon you.'

One of the owls flew to Harry's outstretched arm, somewhat reluctantly, and gave him a sharp nip on the inside of his wrist.

'Ouch!' Harry said, tying his letter to the owl's leg. 'I'd complain, but I think I deserved that.'

Starr hopped off his arm, and flew furiously into the night sky.

XoX

Draco was toasting marshmallows in the fireplace of his father's study, resigned to a Christmas spent with portraits, when he heard the familiar sound of an owl scratching at the window. Carefully balancing the antique sword he'd been using in lieu of a stick on the edge of the mantle, he got up and walked to the window.

'Hello,' he said as he opened the window. 'Are you from who I think you're from?'

The owl hooted sullenly, and held out a leg with a letter tied to it. Draco chuckled softly, and untied the letter. He read it quickly, before pulling out another self-inking quill and scrawling an affirmative reply next to Potter's lunch invitation.

'Are you up to another flight?' he asked the owl, who gave him a dirty look. 'Of course, excuse me.' Draco tied the note in place, and watched as the owl took off again. Turning, Draco walked out of the study and towards the dining room, marshmallows forgotten.

Malfoy Manor had always been intimidating, even when it had been full of house elves and he had lived here with his parents. Now though, he wished that he had a cat to keep him company – the manor was a creepy place to be alone in, especially when you knew that in one of the dark rooms lay the reason to your being in the future.

The dining room was only a few rooms down from his father's study, and it didn't take him very long to reach it. The doors were open, the long oak table he'd eaten at nearly every day before going to Hogwarts overturned against the far wall of the room, and symbols were scrawled in blood across the Georgian hardwood floors.

Draco took a moment, not stepping into the room, to read the list of names attached to the elaborate pattern. _Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Rufus Scrimgeour, Percy Weasley, Alastor Moody, Draco Malfoy – _the names were spaced evenly around the outside of a large, six-sided star It kind of pissed him off – even only remembering a couple years of his stay in America, he'd managed to pick up the slang – that he'd been thrown in on the end. After _Percy Weasley_, for God's sake! But he supposed that by the time the Death Eaters had gotten around to casting the curse, he'd already been missing for a while.

Snape had been killed shortly after the end of the war in what _would_ have been Draco's seventh year. Draco had only known because he had stopped getting letters from the man – not that he had ever _answered_ any of the missives Snape sent, mind you, but Snape had understood, and his letters had turned into a diary of sorts. The Minister for Magic had died in the same attack that left Percy Weasley and the rest of his entourage in a coma, Moody had died of old age in Bermuda, and just like that he and Potter were the only ones left.

XoX

After a day filled with snapping cameras, three whining four year olds, and an awful lot of socks, Harry had fallen into bed without setting an alarm, and was subsequently running late for his lunch date – meeting – with Malfoy. 'Shit,' he said, collapsing into a chair across from the irate, blue-haired man. 'Sorry, I forgot to set an alarm last night.'

'I'm sure,' Malfoy drawled in the same disdainful way that had led to many a fight at school. 'Up celebrating with the Weaselette?'

Harry wrinkled his nose. 'Oh, come on, Malfoy. That relationship ended a long time ago.'

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. 'In recent memory?' he asked slyly.

'I – look, Malfoy, why don't you just tell me what you're here for?'

'Fine.' The disdain cleared from his features, and Malfoy's shoulders slumped slightly. 'I'll be frank; when I came from America I found a spell at work in Malfoy Manor. It's powerful and, as it uses blood magic, I'm pretty sure it's Dark too.'

Harry's mouth was suddenly dry. His last encounters with blood magic had involved an evil overlord.

'Potter, I need to know, are you … _you_?'

'I – Malfoy, do you have any _idea_ what you're asking?'

Malfoy nodded, and gestured a waiter over. 'I'll take that as a no. Shall we order lunch?'

Harry sighed, and glanced half-heartedly at the menu in from of him. The restaurant – Scott Free's – was comfortable and family oriented, full of average families with two parents and 2.3 kids on a day trip from the suburbs. Harry found it very relaxing, but he could see that Malfoy was having trouble settling in. He smiled.

'I'll have a cheeseburger and fries,' he told the waiter with a polite smile, 'and pumpkin juice to drink, please.'

'A BLT, hold the pickles,' Malfoy snapped, shooing the man away.

'Malfoy, it wouldn't kill you to be polite,' Harry said, frowning. 'If we're going to work together on this … thing, then we need to be able to keep away from each other's throats.'

Malfoy's mouth twitched, and Harry, realizing too late what he had said, rolled his eyes. 'You know what I mean, Malfoy.'

'I do, and let me be the first to drag this thing out in the open. This is the future.' Malfoy swept his hand outwards, somehow encompassing the restaurant, the Weasleys, and his blue hair all in one go. 'Eight _years_ in the future.'

Harry nodded. 'Eight years, give or take a few months. Do you have any idea why we're here?'

'Well as I said,' Malfoy replied dryly, 'there's this ruddy big bloodstain in my dining room that may have something to do with it.'

Harry smiled, albeit somewhat reluctantly. 'Alright Malfoy, let's compare notes.'

XoX

Potter, Draco reflected, wasn't _that_ bad to spend time with. Granted, he wouldn't do it by choice, or want to be around him for longer than was strictly necessary, but in the end he was decent company.

'So let me get this straight,' Draco said, placing his napkin down on the table. 'You remember drinking something just before waking up … _here_?'

Potter nodded. 'Yeah, I was in a bar, and then _bam_! I woke up in a strange bed.'

Draco smirked. 'I assume you didn't immediately know you were in the future?'

'No,' Potter laughed. 'It took me a while. Apparently, I'm the Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts now; go figure, right?'

'I can see you teaching,' Draco said. 'You had that club going in our fifth year, didn't you? Dumbledore's Army? Only I would have thought you'd be in charge of Defence classes.'

'Honestly, I would have too,' Potter replied. 'I hadn't finished up my schooling when I got pulled here. I'm hoping that we can get ourselves out of this place before classes start up again, and I have to attempt seventh year Transfigurations.'

Draco laughed. 'I was lucky, I guess. I woke up in a penthouse apartment in New York with a designer wardrobe, and an impressive bank statement. I came back over here as soon as I could, but the only one of my friends not dead or in jail was Pansy. Did you know she married Oliver Wood?'

'Oliver!' Potter exclaimed. 'Really? A Slytherin and a Gryffindor in a relationship together? I can't believe it.'

Draco nearly groaned. How like _Potter_ to divide up the world into Houses when Hogwarts was years behind them. 'They're people, Potter,' he snapped. 'Not a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, just two people who happened to find each other and fall in love. I, for one, respect them.'

Potter frowned back at him. 'I didn't mean anything by it, Malfoy. Even you should be able to see how strange it is.'

'And I suppose the only colours you see in are black and white, is that it Potter?' Draco spat. This had been a mistake. He should never have gone looking for Potter, let alone suggested working with him, even for a common goal.

He pushed away from table – the restaurant wasn't even his taste. Homey and family oriented as it was – and stood. 'Obviously, it was a mistake to think we'd be able to get along long enough to get ourselves out of this fucking pantomime of a future. Goodbye, Potter – I'll get the check: can't have the saviour of hundreds breaking the bank over a mere _Slytherin_.'

He turned fast, throwing a handful of Galleons – far too many, he thought with a grimace – onto the table behind him, and marching out of the restaurant as fast as he could without running outright.

Behind him, he could hear Potter's affronted blustering, and none of his fellow restaurant patrons were even _pretending_ not to be watching them.

As soon as he had the door of the tacky place open, he Apparated back to Malfoy Manor for a nice, stiff drink.


	3. A time to be born, and a time to die

Author's Notes: I'd like to dedicate this chapter to** Memeal** and **HarlequinTemptation** for their amazing reviews. Also, special thanks to **Daniella Flux** for beta-ing. As for the Gas Lighting, I believe it to be suitably antiqued for use in the wizarding world so please refrain from commenting on it.

(For disclaimer, &c. see first chapter.)

**Chapter Two: In Which Differences are Resolved**

_A time to be born, and a time to die  
__- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8_

In hindsight, Harry probably should have seen the argument coming. As the two of them had talked about their shared experience of being pulled from the past, he had let himself be lulled into a false sense of security, and talked to Malfoy the way he talked to Ron – like a friend.

Big mistake.

'A Gryffindor and a Slytherin in a relationship together?' he had said. 'I can't believe it.'

And Malfoy had exploded.

Harry could see Malfoy's side of the argument, he really could, but Malfoy needed to try and see Harry's as well. Harry, though trapped in the body of his twenty-seven year old self, only thought of himself as being nineteen. He realized that Malfoy was only really nineteen too, but it was different for Harry. Malfoy had run off after the events of sixth year, and had had a significantly longer period of time to adjust to living life away from Hogwarts. Harry had spent a year hunting down Voldemort's Horcruxes with Ron and Hermione, and then killed countless Death Eaters, not to mention Voldemort himself, during the final battle of the war.

Harry had then taken a year off, thinking he'd go to Hogwarts after taking a break. That year off had turned into two, and he still hadn't completed his education, but Hermione had been there to nag him and he had put his name down for a special correspondence course Professor McGonagall had set up in order to help everyone who had been taken out of school by their parents -- or left to fight like Harry -- complete their education or catch up to the grade level appropriate to their age. And so Harry had still very much thought of himself as a Gryffindor and seen the world in terms of who was in which House.

Of course, there was no way Malfoy had considered that before he got up and made a scene in the middle of a restaurant. Pillock.

Harry sighed. He knew, of course, that he'd have to make up with Malfoy eventually. The smarmy prat was the only one who could help him get back to his own time.

Getting up from the small bed he'd slept in for the past two nights – he was staying with The Weasley's until the day before New Year's Eve – he made his way downstairs, and trudged into the kitchen.

'Harry!' Hermione exclaimed cheerfully as he sat down at the table. 'Ron's taken Freddie, Georgie and Daphne to visit with Charlie for the day, so it's just you and us girls now!' Daphne was Fleur and Bill's only daughter.

This was followed by Ginny and Fleur laughing idly, and moving towards the table to help Hermione corner Harry.

'I know you hate me interfering Harry, but how did your date with Hugh go?' Hermione asked, settling her massive girth across the table from him, and slamming a platter of cut fruits down as a peace offering.

Harry took a slice of apple, and chewed it thoughtfully before answering. 'We got into an argument. We yelled for a bit, and then he stormed out of the restaurant.'

Ginny and Fleur exchanged looks, and Hermione sighed in the sort of all-knowing, motherly way Molly did – Mr. and Mrs. Weasely had left to visit Percy and Penelope for a week the previous night.

'So you will be seeing 'im again, 'Arry?' Fleur asked flirtatiously – although really, there wasn't _anything _she did that wasn't, in some way, flirtatious.

'What do you mean?'

'Oh come on, Harry,' Ginny said crossly. 'You always manage to pick out the most contrary lovers possible.'

'I – I do _not_,' Harry protested, although he really had no idea if he _did_ or not.

'Of _course_ you do, Harry. Remember Zach Smith?'

Of course Harry _remembered_ him, the git had been almost as bad as Malfoy, constantly picking and prodding at Harry, and when he had announced for Quidditch back in sixth year.

'I can tell by the expression on your face that you do,' Hermione said smugly. 'Although I don't you how you could have expected anything else from him. He always _was_ a prat.'

''Ee called me a no good, French _chien_ when you were dating, 'Arry,' Fleur said matter-of-factly. 'I knew then that 'ee was not the one for you.'

Ginny snorted into her slice of banana.

'Hugh, at least, seemed like a decent sort,' Hermione proclaimed. 'He was quite well put together, wasn't he Harry?'

Harry blushed as Hermione, Ginny, and Fleur _giggled_ at him.

'I wouldn't know,' he said. 'Besides, Hugh's straight.'

'You have to be kidding, Harry!' Ginny exclaimed. 'With that hair and those clothes?'

'I – look, I've already told Hermione I'm going to bring him along on New Year's. If I can get him to talk to me again,' Harry mumbled. 'Isn't that enough?'

'Oh!' Ginny cried. 'Creaver's? How _romantic_, Harry. You never took me anywhere like that when we were going out!'

Harry smiled. 'You wouldn't let me. All _you_ wanted to do was go to Quidditch matches and bars.'

Ginny laughed. 'Yeah, well Dean's trying to culture me. He's always taking me to museums and art shows – it's a wonder he's not more interested in _you_ than _me_, Harry. He's the queerest straight man I ever met. Then again, you're probably the straightest gay men I have ever dated!'

All three women burst into laughter, and Harry got the distinct impression that this was something of a long-standing joke between them.

'Eet will be wonderful, 'Arry,' Fleur cooed. 'I 'ave a new Pansy Wood original to wear to the party.'

'Really?' Harry asked. 'M – Hugh mentioned that he knew her when we went out to lunch. I mean, I know _we_ know her – we did go to school with her, after all – but he's friends with her, I think.'

All three women were staring at him in awe.

'He _knows_ Pansy Wood?' Ginny asked incredulously. 'Do you know how many times I've wished I was nicer to her when we were at school together? I would go out, find Malfoy, and bring him to her on a silver platter – unharmed – in exchange for _one_ dress.'

'Er,' Harry said. 'Malfoy?'

'You haven't forgotten, have you?' Hermione scolded. 'All that ruckus when she turned out to be the one funding the Auror's investigation into his disappearance? She was married to Oliver at the time too, the bitch.'

'Of course,' Harry said weakly. 'How could I forget?'

Hermione eyed him suspiciously from across the table.

'I should go. I need to owl Hugh and apologise.' Harry pushed himself away from the table, and walked upstairs as quickly as possible.

XoX

'Can you _believe_ the nerve of him?' Draco asked as he paced back on forth in front of the fireplace in one of the manor's many receiving rooms as Pansy Wood looked on. 'Oh _Malfoy_, what a dirty, nasty _Slytherin_ you are! I cannot possibly sully my honour by being seen in your presence!'

Pansy rolled her eyes.

'Oooooooooh, Malfoy, I hate you and all your icky Slytherin pals! Oh, Malfoy, I never grew up!'

'Draco,' Pansy snapped. 'I love you, dear, but if you don't shut it I will make sure you never get laid again.'

Draco's mouth closed.

'That's better, darling. Why don't you and I spend some time together, hmm? We could go out shopping, or get some ice cream. How about some chocolate? I know how much you love chocolate.'

Draco sighed and allowed Pansy to placate him with her false promises. He _knew_ he was being ridiculous. He _knew_ he shouldn't care this much about Potter and his stupid prejudices, but he did. Potter had always been able to crawl under his skin, and Draco had always felt a bizarre need to return the favour.

'I don't want to,' he told Pansy firmly, stopping the flow of words from her mouth. 'I shall stay here and pout. Alone.'

Pansy pursed her lips, and Draco stopped his theatrics for a moment to think about how little everything had changed. Pansy still knew how to deal with him, and he with her.

'Don't you have a husband to get home to?' he asked tiredly. 'A handsome Quidditch player wasting away in want of you?'

'No,' she answered. 'He has practise today, so you get all my attention. Aren't you lucky?'

Draco growled.

'Draco, honey, I know you're depressed. Can't we just go to the Ministry and ask for their help? Or maybe turn some lights on in this foul place?'

'No Pansy, we can't. The Ministry would arrest me if they knew where I was, and there are no House Elves left anymore.'

'I doubt the Ministry cares about you anymore, Draco. And it's not that hard to turn on the lights, all you have to do is flick a switch.'

Draco snorted. 'Flick a switch and kill us both. The manor has _gas lighting_, Pans. Without the House Elves around to keep it up the pipes have deteriorated. If you turn the lights on the whole manor will fill with gas, and we'll die a slow, painful death.'

'Oh,' Pansy said.

'Exactly.' Draco sighed dramatically and flopped over onto Pansy's lap. 'Maybe I should just turn the lights on and let myself die. I'm sure I'd make a wonderful corpse.'

Pansy hummed and began stroking Draco's hair. Really, nothing had changed since they had last seen each other. 'Why don't you come stay with me and Oliver, Draco? I know you need the dining room here, but you can just come back. I'm not sure I like the idea of you staying in a house where flipping a light switch could kill you.'

'But how will Potter find me when he wants to come crawling for forgiveness, Pans?' Draco asked plaintively. 'I bet that bastard doesn't even realize what an idiot he is. He's probably laughing at me with fat Granger and the Weasel right now.'

'Fat?' Pansy asked with a smile. 'Granger's gotten fat?'

'Yes,' Draco answered smugly. 'Enormously fat. She's _pregnant_.'

Pansy's lips twitched. 'Pregnant isn't the same thing as fat, Draco. Don't get my hopes up like that.'

Draco smiled. 'What about you? Are you continuing the proud Wood line anytime soon? Giving another unfortunate young boy _that_ last name?'

Pansy wrinkled her nose. 'And be called _fat_? Of course not. It's quite in to adopt right now,' she told him. 'I was thinking of getting one from Asia somewhere.'

'Pansy!' Draco exclaimed playfully, shoving the woman gently.

'Well, it's true,' Pansy insisted. 'Don't blame me for being honest with you. They have special orphanages for wizarding children in China. If I ever want a baby I'll have one shipped over express.'

The two of them kept straight faces for all of ten seconds.

When her laughter had subsided, Pansy sighed and settled back into the couch. 'It's good to have you back, Draco.'

XoX

Harry had, after much pestering from Hermione, Ginny, and Fleur, decided to go over and apologise to Malfoy. But, much to Hermione's chagrin, he refused to Floo directly from The Burrow, stating that he'd go to The Leaky Cauldron first. Mostly he did it so that Hermione wouldn't ask questions about him Flooing to Malfoy Manor.

When he got to the Manor, he found it deserted. The furniture was covered with dust cloths, and he could see footprints leading from the room in the thick dust that had settled on the floor.

Harry followed the most trodden path through the long halls of the manor, his footsteps echoing strangely as he went.

Eventually, Harry came to the dining room Malfoy had been talking about the day before. The room was covered in esoteric writing and symbols, all the deep brown of dried blood. The only part of it Harry could make sense of were the names around the symbol.

_Alright,_ he thought, staring at his own name in horror, _so Malfoy very definitely _wasn't _lying._

Just as he was about to step into the room to get a closed look at the diagram, he heard voices coming around the corner.

"… refuse to apologize to him, Pansy," Malfoy was saying. "He's going to have to talk to me first."

Harry turned to face the direction the voices were coming from just as Malfoy and… Wood turned the corner.

"I'm sorry for being such an ass yesterday, Malfoy," Harry said, before Malfoy could ask what he was doing in the manor.

"Oh," Malfoy said. "I – I guess I'm sorry too, for making a scene."

Pansy Wood smirked from where she stood beside Malfoy. "You two made the papers, did you know?" she asked in a falsely cheerful tone.

"W-what?" Malfoy stuttered out, Harry could only look on in horror as Pansy reached into her handbag and pulled out a copy of The Daily Prophet.

"Harry Potter was seen dining in one of his favourite restaurants with a _new_ boyfriend on Boxing Day," she read eagerly. "The two are reported to have fought, loudly, causing Mr. Potter's date to storm out of the restaurant. Will this torrid relationship be over before it has truly begun?" Pansy smirked. "My, my – you only made the gossip column this time, Potter. I distinctly remember a front page story when you finally broke up with Smith for good."

Harry flushed. He hadn't told Malfoy about his sexuality the day before. He hadn't the time, and he didn't really trust the other man not to shout it out to the media the second the two of them returned to their own time. Then again, for all Harry knew, that was what had happened to out him to the entire Wizarding World.

"You're _gay_?" Malfoy asked incredulously, mouth hanging open. "But you – you're _Harry Potter_, the Boy Who Lived, paradigm of straightness!"

Harry shrugged. "Not so much the last one, really," he said. "Problem, Malfoy?"

Pansy snorted as she replaced the newspaper in her handbag. "Not so much, Potter – _surely _you didn't think Draco here was straight?"

Despite himself, Harry found himself blushing. "Well, um, weren't you two a couple, then?" he asked defensively.

Simultaneously, they laughed.

"No, Potter," Malfoy said, his voice full of pity. "Whatever gave you _that_ idea?"

"Maybe the fact that you had your head in her lap, and she was stroking your hair the last time I saw you two together," Harry suggested sarcastically.

"Potter," Pansy managed to pant through her laughter. "We've been friends since we were _born_ – of course we're a little touchy-feely. That's just who we _are_."

Harry stood there, embarrassed, and waited patiently for the two Slytherins to stop laughing at him.

"Alright, Potter," Malfoy said, once he'd caught his breath. "I forgive you for being an ass. Now, what can I help you with?"

"Um..." Harry said.

"There _was_ a reason that you needed to come over instead of just sending a note, wasn't there Potter?"

"Well…" Harry began, feeling inexplicably like a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I wanted to see the diagram."

Malfoy pursed his lips. "Well you've seen it, now bugger off."

"That's not all I wanted to talk to you about," Harry said, glancing nervously at Pansy. "You see, Hermione's got it into her head that we're… going out. You know?" Harry didn't dare look up to meet the Slytherins' eyes.

"Oh," Pansy said. "Well that will work out nicely, won't it?"

"What? Pansy are you _mad_? Why on Earth would _I_ go out with _Potter_, of all people?"

Harry really didn't want to examine the reason behind the sting he felt at Malfoy's words.

"_You're_ not going out with him, are you?" Pansy said cheerfully. "This Hugh character is. That way, you and Potter can spend an ungodly amount of time together trying to figure out how to send yourselves back without arousing suspicion."

Turning to face Harry directly, she added: "I assume you're taking Draco to the New Year's bash at Creaver's?"

"Er… yes," Harry answered. "I suppose – where _is_ Creaver's?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Oh, _honestly_! Creaver's is in Grimmauld Place – you _own_ it, you fool."

"I – I do?"

"Of course," Pansy told a rather bewildered Harry. "You opened it once you finished your schooling at Hogwarts and – I probably shouldn't be telling you this. The less you know about your past… future, the better."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Well obviously, you need to do certain things or you'll create a paradox in time when you get back. Do you know how _dangerous_ the spell in there _is_?" she asked, waving a hand at the dining room. "If even one line of that pattern is smudged it could destroy the fabric of time as we know it."

"But," Harry said, puzzled. "What if we were supposed to come forwards, and the only reason I opened that restaurant in the first place was because I knew I had it here. What if the only reason Malfoy's hair is blue is because he saw it here and decided he liked it? What if –"

"Hold on, Potter," Malfoy interrupted. "I _don't_ like my hair like this, but I can't change it back."

"Oh," Harry said. "Well maybe you did it anyway because you remembered having it here, even though you didn't like it."

"I'm getting a headache," Pansy said abruptly. "Draco, have fun with Potter – try not to kill him. I'll see you both at Creaver's in a couple of days – you'll both be getting Pansy Wood _originals_ within the next couple of days, and I _better_ see you wearing them."

"Yes, mum," Malfoy quipped sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Pansy stuck out her tongue, and walked down the hall in the direction from which Harry had come, leaving him and Draco to their own devices.

XoX

After several moments of awkward silence, Draco and Harry had decided to attempt going out for a meeting over dinner again to try and get to know one another better. This time, Harry had allowed Malfoy to choose the restaurant.

So, of course, Malfoy had chosen the fanciest place in town – Creaver's.

"You own the place," Malfoy had said. "Surely you can get us in for free."

So here Harry was, forced by Hermione into the starchiest robes he'd ever been made to wear, standing outside _his_ restaurant waiting for Malfoy to show up. And that was when the limo rolled up.

Malfoy, Harry reflected as the other man stepped out of the limousine and waved his driver away, knew how to make an entrance.

Malfoy's robes were dove grey with lavender and light blue designs stitched into them. On anyone else, they probably would have been ridiculously feminine, but Malfoy managed to make it work. The clasp holding his cloak on was ornate; clear gemstone which might have been diamonds – Harry was no expert – encased in swirling patterns of highly polished silver. Admittedly, his hair was still blue, but his air of complete confidence stopped any of the passers-by from commenting.

"Potter," Malfoy said, raising an eyebrow when he reached Harry. "Are we going in?"

Harry nodded and offered Malfoy his arm. "Remember, they think you're my boyfriend, so call me Harry – you wanted to eat here, you have to deal with the consequences. There's a reporter at every second table in there!"

Malfoy smirked. "Lovely. Now I know why Pansy asked me to wear these ridiculous robes."

Harry, who had not thought they looked anything close to ridiculous, asked: "Isn't she one of the top wizarding fashion designer on the scene? Shouldn't she know what she's doing?"

Malfoy snorted. "It's different when you can remember her getting mud all over her robes at age seven, or the racoon eyes she always had when she tried to do her own make up at age twelve."

"So you two are really just friends?"

"Believe me, Potter," Malfoy said as they neared the restaurant entrance. "I'm queer."

"My name's Harry, remember?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I suppose I'm 'Hugh' then. Why on Earth did I pick 'Hugh' of all names? I could have chosen any name in the world and I chose 'Hugh'."

"I don't think it's _that_ bad a name," Harry said defensively.

"Your name is Harry."

"Glad you remembered. What does that have to do with anything?" Harry asked.

"Well," Draco replied, "I'm just saying that you're not in a good place to judge whether a name is nice or not – you have one of the worst names in the world."

"Oh, and I suppose Draco is so much better?" Harry protested.

"Oh course. Have you run into anyone else with that name?"

Harry sighed. "No. We're going in now, so starting acting like a boyfriend."

Draco snorted and pushed the door open.

XoX

Sitting in the overdone robes that Pansy had assured him were the height of today's fashion, Draco couldn't help but feel a little smug. Here he was, Draco Malfoy, sharing a romantic dinner with Harry Potter while the media tried to be subtle about taking photographs of the two of them. Shortly after they sat down, Potter had cast a silencing charm around their table, much to the disappointment of their onlookers.

Draco leaned towards Harry, placing a hand on the table. "Hold my hand, Potter," he said, smirking slightly.

"What?" Potter asked. "Malfoy, are you insane?"

"No, I just think that it would make a better front page then the two of us sitting stoically on separate sides of a table. Or did you not want to be convincing?" he asked with a sneer. "Grab my hand, Potter."

Potter sighed and leant over to cover Draco's hand with his own.

"There," Draco beamed. "Isn't that just so much better?" The cameras were clicking away furiously.

"Well it's certainly going to make the front of every wizarding newspaper in London if that's what you mean," Potter answered tartly.

"Perfect," Draco said with a flirtatious grin. "I've never been on the front of a newspaper before."

"You're exasperating – now I remember why we got into a screaming match last time we talked," Potter said wearily. "I'm not sure if we're going to be able to put up with each other long enough to find a way home."

Draco smiled his first genuine smile of the night and said: "If Pansy can put up with me I'm sure you can too, Potter."

Potter smiled back at him, and Draco found a flush stealing over his cheeks. "Well," Potter said. "Just as long as I don't have to stroke your hair."


	4. A time to plant, and a time to pluck up

**Author's Notes:** I'm sorry to say that I'll be away next weekend, so I (probably) won't be able to upload a new chapter. That said, I solemnly swear to upload two chapters the next week. Thank you for your awesome reviews, and enjoy this chapter!

**Chapter 3: In Which Boundaries Are Crossed**

_A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;  
__- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8_

Harry stood in one of the few bedrooms that still existed in Grimmauld Place and stared down at the robes that Pansy had sent over in horror.

"I'm expected to _wear_ this?" he asked Hedwig in horror. "It's in _Slytherin_ colours!"

And it was. The robes were fitted, and had no front part from the waist down. The top half was covered in far too many buttons – silver buttons – going down the front, and they were Slytherin green. The trousers that she'd sent – there was no shirt, only the robes – were black and laced up the sides with green ribbon. There was a necklace of sorts, more like a torque really, made of intricate swirls of artistically tarnished silver.

"This is ridiculous. There is no way I'm wearing this," he protested. "She must have sent me Malfoy's instead."

As he was stuffing the robes haphazardly back into the large box they had come in his door opened.

"Harry!" Ginny exclaimed, running up to him and yanking the robes from his hands. "Harry, these are _Pansy Wood_ originals! One, you can't treat them like that; two, who did you have to sleep with, and are they into girls as well?"

Harry laughed. "You _can't_ be serious, Ginny. I told you yesterday, Hugh's friends with Pansy Wood."

"Oh," Ginny said. "Right. So he's _not_ into girls then? I could get Dean to sleep with him if he wanted."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You're willing to pimp out your boyfriend for one dress?"

"Harry, I'm willing to sell my soul for dress robes by her. She's famous for a reason, Harry. Did she send these to you?"

"I guess," Harry said miserably. "But the colours…"

"The colours are fine," Ginny said dismissively. "No one will care. Green really brings out your eyes, you know. She wouldn't let you look bad in something she designed – it would ruin her reputation."

Harry eyed the robes. "Are you sure? And how do you even get _into_ those things?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh come on, Harry – it has an invisible zipper in the side of the robes so you don't have to unbutton anything. It's just like getting in and out of a dress."

Harry was about to protest that he had never worn a dress when he thought better of it. Who knew really?

"Come on, come on – you need to be downstairs when Hugh arrives!" Ginny ushered Harry into the connected water closet, and began to strip him of his clothes.

"_Ginny!_" Harry cried, trying to pull his t-shirt back down. "What are you _doing_?"

"Oh come on, Harry," Ginny scolded. "It's not as if I haven't done considerably more than look at it before – although don't tell Ron that, he's still in denial about the baby. Off they go!" She resumed tugging at his clothes.

"I can dress myself, thank you," Harry said. "Come on, Ginny – let me get into the trousers and then you can help with the robe, all right?"

Ginny swatted at him playfully. "Fine, Harry – do hurry up though, Hugh will be here any minute now!"

Harry rolled his eyes as soon as the door to the loo was firmly closed. "Weren't you saying I shouldn't fall for his American wiles?" Harry asked, raising his voice a little so she could hear him through the door.

"That was before I knew that _he_ knew Pansy Wood," Ginny called back. "Now, I want you two to get married so I can get a Pansy Wood original bridesmaid dress."

"You could have had a Pansy Wood original _wedding_ dress," Harry shot back, hoping that she _hadn't_ had one.

"Harry!" Ginny shrieked. "I thought you and Ron were going to drop that!"

_Crap_, Harry thought.

"You _know_ Dean and I don't want to get married yet. Hermione understands. Why can't you?"

"Sorry, Ginny," Harry said as he tugged the entirely too-tight pants he had been given up to cover his hips and swung open the door. "It's just – you know."

"Oh, I know, Harry," Ginny cooed as she shoved the Slytherin robe over his head. "Raise your arms."

Harry did as he was told. Obviously, Ginny had been taking lessons from Mrs. Weasley in preparation for the new baby.

"So," Harry said, once the robes had been zipped up and the torque had been clasped around his neck. "How do I look? Slytherin? Evil? _Bad_?"

"No, actually," Ginny said happily. "You look quite hot. I bet Hugh's going to be all _over_ you tonight!"

_Right,_ Harry thought. _Only if he wants to make the front page again_.

Because, of course, Malfoy had been _right_ and they had been plastered all over every paper in the Wizarding World, up to, and including, _The Daily Prophet_. It was a sad world, he reflected, when he and the bloke he was pretending to go out with were front page news.

"Do you think they'll be any more photographers tonight?" Harry asked as he tried in vain to tidy his hair.

"I shouldn't think so – only Colin, really," Ginny said absently as she joined his battle. "I thought you said you had increased the security this year?"

"I did," Harry lied. "Of course I did."

"Then you shouldn't have anything to worry about," Ginny enthused. "Colin will take the requisite few pictures and then leave you alone."

"Well," Harry said uncertainly. "All right. It's just that I don't want my private life splashed all over the front pages."

"I understand, Harry – we did go out, once upon a time." She smiled to take the bite out of her statement. "I was just too effeminate for you, I guess."

That, Harry knew, was meant to be a joke. Only, when he compared Malfoy and his airs to Ginny and her cropped hair and button down shirt – the only concession she had made to the importance of the evening was a floor length, black skirt Hermione had all but forced her into – it was clear that Malfoy really was the more female of the two.

"Right," Harry said, smirking a little. "Effeminate."

Ginny hit him and pushed him out the door.

XoX

When Draco arrived at Grimmauld Place in the gold and red robes into which he had been forced by Pansy, he did not expect Potter to greet him at the door with a peck on the cheek. Nor did he expect Potter to, at the urging on his friends, kiss him full on for Colin Creevey for 'prosperity' (and, Draco suspected, publicity). So, following the two rather abrupt kisses, Draco made sure to stay out of Potter's way, nursing a champagne glass and trying to smother the beginning of attraction.

When he was good and drunk, Draco set out to confront Potter. "Potter," he said, clasping a delicate glass of champagne in his hand. "What on _Earth_ was that all about?"

"What was _what_ all about?" Potter asked. Potter, Draco noted, was only drinking water.

"That… that _thing_ at the door," Draco said conspiratorially. "You know."

The other man looked supremely amused. "Oh, the kiss?"

"_No_, Potter, the _other_ thing at the door," Draco snapped. "Of course the… the _kiss_."

Potter shrugged. "Sorry about that. Ginny was going on and on about what a cute couple we were, and wouldn't we like to kiss for the camera so I did it to shut her up."

"And you couldn't have asked, or at least _warned_ me _first_?"

The amused expression on Potter's face was slowly morphing into a frown. "It's not like you really consulted me about holding hands last night, Malfoy. Don't give me that."

"But I gave you my reasons for it afterwards, I didn't just… just bugger off to greet guests!"

"Oh hush up, Malfoy – it wasn't like I enjoyed it!" Potter retorted as his control finally snapped and with that, stomped off.

Draco was angry. How could Potter have not enjoyed their kiss? _Draco_ had enjoyed it. Certainly, it wasn't because he had enjoyed kissing _Potter_, but he was secure enough to admit to himself – and perhaps to Potter or Pansy – that the man was a good kisser and reasonably attractive. Draco also knew himself to be a skilled kisser and _extremely _attractive. Potter, he thought, should have felt at least some compulsion to admit he liked kissing him, if only because he was pretty.

Spotting Pansy and her entourage of sycophants, Draco made his way over to complain to her. If he was lucky, she might stroke his hair for him.

XoX

"He really _does_ know Pansy Wood!" was the first thing Hermione said to Harry as he approached.

Harry glanced over his shoulder in time to see Pansy ditch her entourage for Draco. "You didn't believe me? Even when I showed up in these?" he asked, picking at the edges of his robes.

"Well… It's just sort of hard to believe, you know?" Hermione answered tentatively. "I know we went to school with her and all, but I've never really connected Pansy Parkinson and Pansy Wood in my mind. Do you think you and Hugh will be together long?"

Harry rolled his eyes. What was so great about Pansy's robes anyway – they just seemed too tight and too pretentious to him. "I don't know," he said. "We'll see what happens, I suppose."

"Hmm," Hermione said. "Because if you end up marrying him, then she'll probably provide dresses for the wedding party."

Hermione, Harry decided, had been spending far too much time with Ginny.

XoX

"Well," Pansy said, sounding thoroughly amused. "At least you'll be on the front page again, dear."

"I don't want to be on the front page on someone else's terms, only on my own," Draco pouted. "Did you know, he said he didn't enjoy kissing me?"

"Oh is _that_ what this is about, Draco?" Pansy asked, exasperated. "Since when has what Potter thought ever bothered you?"

"Well," Draco began uncertainly. "It isn't so much the fact that he didn't like kissing me as…"

"Oh for – you _liked_ kissing him?"

"No," Draco protested. "Well, maybe. Just a bit."

Pansy rubbed her temples. "Look, honey, why don't you just go up to Potter and kiss _him_, then maybe he'll see what he's missing out on."

"No!" exclaimed Draco. "Are you insane?"

"I'm getting there," Pansy murmured as she knocked the rest of her champagne back. "I don't suppose you want to go over and pretend to be Potter's boyfriend for an hour or so, do you?"

"Not really. I'd probably have to talk to people with red hair."

"Go. Now. Before I tell everyone that you fancy a Weasley," Pansy threatened.

"I do not!" Draco cried, outraged.

"Oh that's right, you fancy a _Potter_ instead," Pansy sneered as she turned away from Draco. "Darling, go away. You're fun to be around, but only in small doses."

Draco huffed and span around to find Potter. If he was miserable, the other man would be too.

XoX

"… it's like being rear-ended," Hermione was explaining as Harry approached. "Sometimes, when you rear-end someone it doesn't do anything, and sometimes you do damage – it's just like that."

"Hermione, what on Earth are you talking about?" Harry asked, deciding he should probably save the bewildered-looking young wizard she had cornered.

"Magic," she answered promptly. "Why potions don't always turn out right. This is Benjamin Dunbar, he works for the Ministry."

Harry shook Benjamin's hand and gave him a sympathetic look. "I see – she used to do this to Ron and me in school too," he said. "She'd just go on and on, and we'd have no idea what she was ranting about."

Benjamin smiled, and Harry had just noticed that the other man was quite attractive, really, when Malfoy came along.

"I'm _bored_," Malfoy whigned, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and dropping his head onto Harry's shoulder. Harry blushed crimson immediately.

"M – Hugh!" he hissed, pushing at Malfoy's arms. "I'm trying to save some bloke from Hermione, here."

Malfoy raised his head to glance at Benjamin before dropping it back on to Harry's shoulder. "Don't care," he said petulantly. "Let him suffer."

Harry sighed. Really, how did Pansy put up with him? Harry wasn't even his real boyfriend and Malfoy still managed to be high maintenance.

"Hugh," Hermione greeted pleasantly. "I'm not sure if you remember me. I'm Hermione Weasley – I was there that night you were looking for Harry."

"Ah yes," Malfoy said, freeing Harry and moving to shake her hand. "It's very nice to meet you, Harry has told me all about the adventures the two of you had at Hogwarts."

Harry was a bit surprised, but he supposed Malfoy would be able to hold up his end of any Hogwarts-related conversation Hermione struck up.

"He did?" Hermione exclaimed as Benjamin edged away from the three of them. "You must be something special, then, because Harry _never_ tells anyone about our school days! He always says it's too personal!"

_Shit_, Harry thought. _Hermione, Ginny and Fleur are going to be looking at Pansy Wood bridesmaid dresses tomorrow._

"Really?" Malfoy asked. "How interesting. Do you have any other insights into our _dear_ Harry's character?"

_Hermione's not stupid_, Harry thought desperately. _Hermione's not stupid._

"Oh, you don't want to hear about _that_ do you?" It was quite clear to Harry that Hermione expected him to _really_ want to hear about _that_.

"Of course!" Malfoy exclaimed. "Why wouldn't I?"

"They're boring," Harry said, jumping in to try and save himself. "Utterly and completely boring. Don't do it."

Malfoy had just opened his mouth to say something when Fleur swept up in an elegant, white gown.

"_Bonjour_," she said pleasantly. "_Comment ça va?_"

"_Ça va, merci,_" Malfoy returned. "_Et toi?_"

"_Bien, merci beaucoup,_" Fleur smiled and turned to face Harry. "You must keep this one, 'Arry. 'Ee iz much nicer then your others."

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said weakly as Fleur and Malfoy launched into a conversation he could not hope to comprehend. "Hermione, do you understand anything they're saying?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "Every other word or so, I haven't spoke French in such a _long_ time. Perhaps it's a good thing that Hugh's here to talk to Fleur in her native tongue. I never even _thought_ of doing it!

"An _American_ fluent in French! How marvellous! You really _must_ keep this one, Harry. He's absolutely charming. You look so cute together!"

It was, Harry reflected, surreal. Here he was, pretending to be dating Draco Malfoy, and Hermione was telling him how _cute_ of a couple they were. "Right," Harry said as Fleur and Malfoy laughed simultaneously and shot him matching looks. "I'm going to get more champagne."

XoX

Midnight was fast approaching, and Harry had been successfully avoiding Malfoy for a good two hours when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Look," he began. "I don't want to talk about it, all right?" He spun around, about to tell the blue-haired man to leave him the fuck alone, but was met with the bewildered visage of Charlie Weasley.

"Harry?" he asked cautiously. "Are you all right?"

Harry sighed. "Sorry, Charlie – I thought you were someone else."

"It's fine, mate – I understand. I was just wondering how things are going with that new boy toy of yours. Tired of him yet?" Charlie winked, and Harry suddenly found himself thinking that red heads were _quite_ attractive.

"Er," he said. "Have you met, um, Hugh before?"

"I don't think so," Charlie answered with a smile. "Shall we go sit? You can tell me all about him – the media's eating it up. Harry Potter and his American lover."

Harry laughed. "I don't know why they're so interested – it's not like we've been together all that long."

Charlie laughed again. "Yes, but you two came onto the scene with a screaming row in the middle of a restaurant that wasn't your own. That's quite something, although I'm sure Zacharias Smith would argue that your final fight in the middle of Madam Malkin's was a better performance."

"He'd argue about _anything_," Harry retorted sullenly. "Why on _Earth_ did I _ever_ go out with him?"

"Probably because he's fit," Charlie said, swinging an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Cheer up, chum – it's in the past."

_Yes,_ Harry thought petulantly. _But I'll have to go back and re-live it eventually._

"It's nearly midnight, shouldn't you go snog your boyfriend?"

Harry blushed. "Well…" he said.

"Oh, I get it!" Charlie exclaimed. "Another lovers' spat, is that it?"

"Oh. Yes, yes of course," Harry agreed weakly, glad Charlie had thought it up.

"Well then, that solves _my_ problem!" Charlie said, smiling – and wasn't he a bit cheerful? Harry _had_ just said that he and his… 'boyfriend' were on the outs, after all.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked as the crowd around them started to count down to midnight.

"Well," Charlie said in a coy, leading sort of way that made Harry think of his little sister. "_I _don't have anyone to kiss, and _you're_ having a fight with your boyfriend. It's perfect!"

"I don't understand," Harry said. Was that Malfoy over there with Pansy and Oliver? And didn't those two just personify the ideal couple, all soft touches and gentle kisses – disgusting. Next thing you know, Pansy would be designing matching robes for the pair of them.

"Zero!" the crowd shouted, and Charlie grabbed his shoulders, kissing him hard. Harry endured, that was really the only word for it. Charlie may have been a good kisser under different circumstances, but Harry was very aware that he was supposed to be dating someone else, and he wasn't the disloyal type. Not to mention that fact that Charlie hadn't kissed him so much as mashed their mouths together and now all he could focus on was the pain radiating from his nose, even if Charlie had changed the mashing of mouths, faces and teeth to a real kiss.

When they parted, no one seemed to have noticed their little tryst, despite its occurence in the middle of Harry's restaurant.

"What was _that_?" Harry asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his palm. What if Collin had taken a photograph? Would this be all over the front page of _The Prophet_ tomorrow? He _couldn't_ get in a fight with Malfoy, he'd lose all chances of getting back to his own time!

"Fuck," Harry muttered as Charlie slunk away. Obviously, he had to go find Malfoy.

XoX

Draco hadn't been looking for Potter. He really hadn't. He's just happened to glance over to a deserted corner of the restaurant while everyone was snogging and hugging and generally being cheerful in time to see a fit Weasley and Potter sucking each other's faces off.

_Oh_, he thought. _Well._

All right, so maybe Draco had been just a _little_ attracted to Potter. And maybe he _had_ enjoyed that kiss just a little _too_ much. He certainly wasn't going to admit it, at least not _now_.

Draco turned and stomped out of the room.


	5. A time to kill, and a time to heal

**Chapter 4: In Which Alcohol is Consumed**

_A time to kill, and a time to heal;  
__- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8_

Harry had spent a good half hour looking for Malfoy before he gaveup. Obviously, the other man had left when he had become bored, although Harry remembered seeing him shortly before Charlie had assaulted him.

'Did you see where, er, Hugh went?' he asked Ginny the next morning. She had shown up at his doorstep – the one at Grimmauld Place, not at Hogwarts – first thing that day with a hangover cure.

'No,' she answered. 'Did you lose track of your boyfriend, Harry?' The question was asked with a long-suffering air that half-convinced Harry that this wasn't the first time he had done this. Not that a boyfriend was something you could, say, drop in between the couch cushions.

'I don't think so,' Harry replied warily. Ginny's moods were volatile, as evidenced by the black eye Ron had received the previous night. 'He must have left with Pansy and Oliver. He could have said goodbye.'

Ginny smiled and poured Harry a cup of tea. 'You two really are the most adorable couple, you know. How long have you been together?'

Harry's mind was blank. What could he tell her? 'I'm not sure, really,' he replied weakly after a momentary pause. 'Sometimes it seems like days, sometimes it seems like years.'

'That's so sweet, Harry!' Ginny exclaimed happily as she toddled around the room, clenching a cup of hot tea in her hands. 'When are you two getting together again? I'd really like to meet him in a quieter setting than Christmas or New Year's.'

'I'm not sure,' he said uncertainly. 'He just sort of… left last night. We didn't get a chance to plan our next encounter.'

'Owl him,' Ginny commanded, pulling a quill and a piece of parchment out of a drawer.

'W – what? I can't just _owl_ him, Ginny,' Harry protested.

Ginny gave him a strange look. 'Of course you can, Harry – he's your _boyfriend_, remember? Just Owl him a note, Harry – or shall I write it _for_ you?'

Harry took the quill and made a show of getting the parchment ready to write on. 'But what will I _say_, Ginny?' he asked nervously.

'Oh _for –_ ' she stomped over and yanked the quill from his hand. 'Let me do it, Potter.'

Harry backed away as she scrawled a dinner invitation across the page and signed it '_Harry'_.

'Now,' she straightened and thrust the note at him. 'Owl it, Potty, or you'll get the business side of my wand.'

He Owled it.

XoX

Draco was sitting on Pansy's couch, sulking.

'Honey,' Pansy sighed, crossing her legs and flashing a pale thigh at him from between the folds of her purple, silk house robe. 'If you don't tell me what's wrong, I can't fix it.'

'You can't fix it anyway, Pansy,' Draco said sullenly. 'Unless you've got some sort of mind control magic that Potter can't overthrow.'

Pansy sighed. 'Really sweetie, I thought we got over all this with Potter – what's he done now?'

'HekissedCharlieWeasleyrightinfrontofme,' Draco muttered.

'What?' Pansy's voice had taken on a dangerously inpatient edge.

'I _said_,' Draco paused. 'Potter made out with Charlie Weasley right in front of me.'

'He _what_?' Pansy shrieked. 'He made out with some other bloke with the press present? Do you know what this could do to your reputation?'

'Well,' Draco said. 'It was only Creepy Creevey, and he was in the corner snogging some brunette.'

Pansy raised an eyebrow. 'You're not… _defending_ him, are you Draco?'

'Of course not,' Draco bristled. 'Don't be daft.'

'You are defending the git! _Draco!_'

'Shut it, Parkinson – I _know_. And it's not like I'm going to do anything about it. Obviously, he likes red heads.'

Pansy snorted. 'Are you kidding? He hasn't gone out with a red head since Ginny Weasley. It's been blondes and a couple brunettes for him so far. And I'm not a Parkinson anymore, Draco.'

'Look,' Draco growled. 'I don't need to know, and I'm not going to do anything anyway, _Wood_.'

'Why not?'

'Why not what?'

Pansy made a frustrated gurgling sort of noise in the back of her throat. 'Why aren't you going to do something about it? You obviously think he's attractive, and if you dyed your hair blonde again he'd find you attractive too. Just ask him if he wants to make out while you look for your solution.'

'Pansy!' Draco cried, frustrated. 'I can't do that!'

'Get over yourself,' Pansy snapped. 'You'll both be back in your own time soon enough, and then it won't matter. You'll be in New York and he'll be going out with Ginny Weasley still. Or have just broken up with her. Either way, you two won't see each other after you get back. Just do it.'

Draco got up from Pansy's couch and began to pace. 'Pansy, what do you think will happen when Potter and I go back to our own time?'

Pansy shrugged. 'I don't know. I don't think anybody has ever travelled this far into their own future before. You could end up screwing everything up when you return, or…'

'Or we forget everything, right?' Draco sat back down and rubbed his temples. 'That seems like the most likely option to me. After all, if I knew that you didn't hate me, I would have come back here much sooner.' He smiled at Pansy. 'I did miss you, Pans.'

Pansy rolled her eyes. 'You can be such a Hufflepuff sometimes, Draco. And maybe… maybe you _won't_ get back. Maybe you and Potter are stuck here for good.'

Draco sighed. 'Pansy, as much as I'd like to be able to stay with you here, I want to experience everything I've missed more. I want to know how I got a penthouse apartment, I want to know why I coloured my hair this Godforsaken colour, and I want to know about my life.'

'You're right, of course,' Pansy said, somewhat haughtily, as she summoned a House Elf. 'I suppose we should enjoy the time we have while we have it, then. The you of this time is certainly not going to come back here.' She paused for a moment, a calculating expression on her face. 'I could Owl you, I guess. Demand you come back home and all that.'

'You could,' Draco said cautiously. 'Only I'd probably burn your letter and kill the owl.'

Pansy pulled a face.

'You _could_ come visit me though, Pansy. I can give you the address of the penthouse I woke up in.'

'That you _woke up in_?' Pansy laughed. 'Are you sure it belongs to you?'

'Well the doorman knew my name and the manager came around for a payment,' Draco admitted. 'Otherwise I wouldn't be sure. The apartment I remember living in wasn't nearly as nice as this one is.'

A worried expression flitted over Pansy's face. 'Aren't you going to lose your apartment if you're over here?'

Draco shook his head. 'No, I told the manager I needed to take care of my father's will and might not be back for some time, and when that didn't work I paid him two months in advance.'

Pansy was about to reply when the House Elf she'd rang for finally showed up carrying a letter. 'They showed up earlier today, it's addressed to you.'

'To me?' Draco took the letter and frowned at it. 'No one… Oh.' On front of the folded missive, someone had scratched out the word _'Hugh'_.

'Yes,' Pansy said knowingly. '_'Oh'._'

Draco opened the letter and scowled. 'It's from Potter and the Weaselette – they want me to meet them for dinner. Oh, and you're free to come to if you don't have a previous engagement.'

Pansy gaped at him. 'Why on Earth would I want to go to a dinner with Potter and a Weasley? Whatever would we have to talk about?'

Draco smirked. 'Well, you could talk about being Fag Hags, that's something you have in common.'

Pansy smacked Draco.

'Just for that, _Malfoy_, I am coming. And if they ask how we know each other, I'm saying that you're an underwear model.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Who says we're going? I'm still mad at Potter, you know.'

'Mad at, or mad for?' Pansy asked sardonically, raising a dark eyebrow. 'Let's meet them. You can ask Potter what he was doing with Charlie Weasley –' Draco snorted. '– besides the obvious, and I can make fun of Ginny Weasley.'

'Fine,' Draco grumbled. 'I'll agree to meet with them. But you're coming, and we're not letting them choose the restaurant.'

XoX

Harry and Ginny ended up choosing the restaurant.

'Are you sure about this?' Harry asked nervously as they stood outside Scott Free's. 'Things didn't go over so well last time we were here.'

'You can't go around thinking that this place has bad karma, Harry – it's your favourite restaurant. You should be able to go there with your boyfriend whenever you want to without fear of another fight.'

'Right,' said Harry. 'I should be able to, but I can't.'

'Oh, Hugh!' Ginny said, smiling and waving.

Harry sighed, and turned to face Malfoy and Pansy. Pansy had obviously dressed Malfoy in one of her creations, because Ginny had started to coo. Personally, Harry didn't see what all the fuss was about.

Malfoy was dressed in an off white, ribbed turtle neck and pinstripe trousers. The only thing that separated his outfit from that of a Muggle was the plain black robe he wore over everything else. The robe was open, and only came about two-thirds of the way down his arms.

Harry thought Malfoy looked like a prat, a bit like he'd grown out of his robes.

Ginny, however, could not praise his outfit enough.

'Oh, it's _adorable_, Pansy!' she exclaimed, as if the two had been friends for years.

'You really think so? I could barely get, er, Hugh out of the house!'

'Really?' Ginny asked, hooking her arms through Pansy's and leading her into the restaurant. 'Harry was the same way with that outfit you sent over last night. I had to force him into it!'

Harry watched Ginny and Pansy enter Scott Free's warily, a horrified expression on his face. 'Are they… getting along?' he asked Malfoy warily.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. 'Don't worry about it, Potter – they're females.'

'… And?'

'And it's no wonder you're gay, Potter, you have absolutely no understanding of woman. Now, let's go. I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible,' Malfoy snapped.

Harry frowned. 'What's your problem, Malfoy?'

Malfoy growled and stomped into the restaurant.

_No bad karma,_ Harry thought. _Right._

XoX

Draco was sitting in the tacky restaurant he had first agreed to meet Potter in, wearing robes that were about twenty centimetres too short in the arms, wishing he had alcohol of some kind. Pansy was chatting happily away with Ginny Weasley, and despite his previous conviction that they weren't really getting along, they two had a surprising amount to talk about.

'I can't believe it,' Potter said, sounding befuddled. 'They're actually getting along.'

'Hmm,' Draco said into his tea.

'Like, _really_ getting along.'

'Yes,' Draco said testily.

'Wow.'

Draco _really_ wished he had something alcoholic in his hands.

XoX

When Ginny had suggested going to London and mingling with the Muggles, Harry hadn't expected Pansy to agree.

But she did. She agreed, took off her robes, forced Malfoy from his, and left them with Tom in The Leaky Cauldron while she went 'slumming'. Although, judging by the confounded expression Malfoy had had on his face when Pansy grabbed the back of his robes, he hadn't expected her to say yes either.

But now, the two of them were trailing behind Ginny and Pansy as the two women trotted through the busy streets of London, chatting each other's ears off.

'Seriously Malfoy, did _you_ know they were going to get along this well?' Harry asked.

'No I bloody _didn't_, Potter!' Malfoy exclaimed, whirling to face him. 'Stop fucking talking about it! Stop talking to _me_!'

And with that, he grabbed Pansy by the wrist and left.

XoX

'Draco Lucius Malfoy!' Pansy shrieked. Draco winced; he'd only considered the possible consequences of his actions after he and Pansy had been halfway down the block.

'What?' he asked, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

'What do you mean _what_?'

Draco looked at his feet and hoped she would get it over with.

'I don't care _what_ your problem is with Potter and his uncontrollable libido – _I_ won't be embarrassed by your behaviour anymore, you hear me? Now, you apologize to Potter and you ask him why he was snogging Charlie Weasley. Or _else_.'

Draco muttered murderous phrases under his breath, but Apparated away meekly nonetheless.

XoX

Harry had barely had time to remove his jacket when someone knocked on the door.

Not the _front_ door – that led into the restaurant – but the _side_ door, the one that led directly to his house.

Harry sighed and opened the door, only a little surprised to see Malfoy standing there.

'What do you want?' Harry asked irritably. 'To yell at me again?'

'No,' Malfoy said, eyes blatantly scanning the room behind Harry. 'I'm here to apologise and make a date for our first research meeting.'

'What?' Harry asked, stepping back so Malfoy could enter the room. 'Did I hear you right? You're here to _apologise_?'

'Yes,' Malfoy said, shrugging off a Muggle style blazer. 'Pretty much. Pansy made me.'

'Oh,' Harry said, following Malfoy as he wandered through his house.

'Are you dating Charlie Weasley?' Malfoy asked.

Harry, stunned, took a moment to formulate his answer. 'No.'

'Then why were you kissing him?' Malfoy had found the kitchen and was systematically exploring Harry's cupboards.

'What are you looking for? And when? On New Year's Eve?'

'I'm looking for alcohol,' Malfoy said, pulling a bottle of cooking sherry from above the stove and taking a swing. 'And yes, on New Year's. Do you know how bad I would have looked if anyone had seen?'

'Well, I didn't think anyone _had_ seen,' Harry protested, eyeing Malfoy warily. 'Do you usually barge into people's houses and drink their alcohol?'

Malfoy took another swing. 'No, not usually. And I'm asking you why you did it in the first place, Potter. Should you and Hugh break up so you and Weasley can ride off in the sunset?'

It took Harry a moment to remember who 'Hugh' was, but once he did he found himself strangely averse to the idea of a break up. 'No,' he said. 'Charlie just kind of kissed me, there's nothing going on between us.' And why did he feel like he was defending himself to his boyfriend? Probably because he was. In a sense. Well, maybe not.

'He just… kissed you?' Malfoy raised an eyebrow in a way that Harry remembered all too well from school.

'Yes.' Harry was definitely feeling defensive now.

'You didn't notice _anything_? I mean, usually there are signs that someone is going to kiss you.'

'Well,' Harry admitted reluctantly. 'In retrospect, maybe I had a bit of time to pull away. I didn't kiss him back.' And, judging by the expression on Malfoy's face, that had been the wrong thing to say.

'Why would I care, Potter?' Malfoy asked, slamming the bottle of sherry on the counter.

'You… wouldn't?' Harry hazarded.

'Damn right I wouldn't!' Malfoy exclaimed. 'Not one bit!'

Harry blinked.

'So… Do you want to come to the manor tomorrow to try and decode the dining room?'

Malfoy, Harry decided, had definitely had enough sherry.

XoX

When Draco had shown up at the door of Creaver's, the maitre d' had pointed him to the side of the house, down a dirty alley, to a bright red door. He knocked on it.

Potter's house was actually not that bad to look at. He had a set of blue, suede couches in his front room which Draco wouldn't have minded moving into his own apartment back in New York, and the glass table that sat between them wasn't bad either.

'What do you want?' Potter had asked. 'To yell at me again?'

Draco had nearly winced, but had gone ahead and pushed his way into Potter's house anyway, finding the kitchen and alcohol as fast as he could.

In the end, Potter _had_ apologised for kissing Charlie Weasley, who had now replaced Ron Weasley as his most hated Weasley, and so Draco decided to forgive him for taking the sherry away. Presently, they were sitting on Potter's nice, suede couches and trying to come up with a safe topic of conversation.

'So,' Potter said after five minutes of silence. 'What time should I come over tomorrow?'

Draco shrugged and petted the arm of Potter's couch. 'Around lunch time, I guess. When do you have to go back to work?'

Potter turned wide eyes on Draco. 'I… I don't know,' he said. 'No one mentioned anything about it.' Potter stood from the couch and scampered into the kitchen. 'Do you think Pansy would know when school starts again?' he asked as he pulled a scrap of parchment and a quill out of a drawer. 'Can you write and ask her?'

Draco shrugged. 'I could just go ask her in person, Potter. And I'll see you tomorrow at lunch.'

'Oh,' Potter said. 'Right.' And why did Draco hope Potter would stop him from leaving? 'See you then, I guess.'

'Yes,' Draco said, somewhat stiffly, as he turned and walked for the door. 'See you tomorrow. Twelve o'clock sharp, Potter – I'll have the House Elfs cook something up.'

'Really?' Potter asked as he trotted behind Draco.

'Yes, _really_, Potter.' Draco had reached the front door, and after grabbing his blazer, opened it. 'Look, I'll ask Pansy if she know tonight, and if she doesn't I'll have her ask someone who does. You just make sure you haul arse and get to the manor by noon, tomorrow. All right?'

Potter blinked, and nodded. 'All right. You know you really _have_ picked up an American accent.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Believe me, I was surprised too. Last I remember I was still getting laid because of my 'sexy British accent'. Good_bye_, Potter.'

He closed the door in Potter's face.

It was a bit odd, he reflected as he strolled up the dingy alley away from Potter's house, to slam the door in someone's face as you left their house. Draco laughed a bit as he prepared to Apparate away; he couldn't wait to see Potter tomorrow and see what he had to say about the incident.

XoX

Harry, for his part, was staring at the closed door with some amount of perplexity. Had Malfoy just slammed the door to Harry's own house in his face?

What a Malfoy thing to do.

Harry sighed, and went to sit on one of his couches. One of the couches that Malfoy had been stroking. He flushed and turned his gaze to the arm of the chair. Harry sat there for a moment, imagining all number of dirty things, before growling in annoyance and sitting up. Malfoy was _not_ interested, and even if he was, now would be a very bad time to start a relationship. Any time would be a very bad time to start a relationship with _Malfoy_, despite his blue hair and accent.

Despite his blue hair that had gone remarkably well with the couches and would probably look even better if it were, say, fanned out across the material as Harry slowly kissed his way down Malfoy's neck… He stopped.

_Bad brain_, he thought testily, _bad, bad brain. _Standing, Harry walked over the fireplace and took a handful of Floo powder. All things considered, Fleur, Hermione and Ginny were probably easier to deal with than his Malfoy-obsessed mind.


	6. A time to break down, and a time to buil

**Chapter 5: In Which a Key is Uncovered**

_A time to break down, and a time to build up;  
__- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8_

Yawning, Harry burrowed further into his comforter, and tried to ignore whoever was shaking him so insistently.

'Go'way,' he mumbled crossly, batting at the rough hands. 'Sleeping.'

'Get _up_, Potter!' Malfoy yelled, practically in Harry's ear. 'I can't fucking believe you. I come all this way to _help_ you, and you tell me to '_go'way'_?'

Harry, recognising the voice, sat up. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?" he asked fearfully. "How did you get in?"

Malfoy sighed, and ran a hand through his (_rather attractive_, Harry's brain added) blue hair. "I Flooed over from the hovel your pet weasels call home, and I'm here because Pansy told me when Hogwarts started back up again."

"Oh?" Harry stretched and ran a hand through his messy hair.

"Yes, Potter, and it starts today." Malfoy levelled a cold glare at Harry. "So you better haul ass to the bathroom, and get clean."

Now completely awake, Harry scrambled out of bed and rushed into the adjoining loo. "Malfoy!" he called over his shoulder as he stripped of the t-shirt he'd worn to bed. "Could you pull out a set of robes for me?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but began to root through Harry's wardrobe regardless. "Does it matter what I pick out as long as it involves robes of some sort?" he asked, turning to face Harry, who was standing in beside the tub in his pants, adjusting the temperature of the water.

"Nothing too fancy," Harry answered, hardly sparing him a glance. "Do you suppose the students will want their essays back?" With a quick glance to ensure that Malfoy wasn't watching, Harry stripped off his pants and hopped into the warm spray of the shower.

As quickly as he could, Harry washed up, and turned off the taps. As he peeked out from behind the shower curtain he realised that he hadn't thought of grabbing a towel.

'Er,' he said. 'Do you think you could hand me a towel, Malfoy? I'd get one myself, but I don't fancy giving you a free show.'

Malfoy chuckled, and got up from where he'd been sitting on Harry's bed to grab a towel from the rack beside the sink. 'I was wondering when you'd notice they were out of reach,' he admitted.

Harry snorted as he began to dry himself off. 'You were just hoping for a peek.'

'Oh?' Malfoy's tone was far too guileless for Harry's taste. 'Well, I suppose there's a good chance I'll get one soon anyway.'

'What do you mean, Malfoy?" Harry asked.

'How else are you supposed to get changed?"

Harry froze. 'Fuck.'

Malfoy laughed again. 'Oh, don't worry Potter – I don't want a free show anymore than you want to give one. I'll be downstairs forcing your house-elf to cook breakfast for the both of us. What with the walk from Hogsmede, you're not going to have time to eat in the Great Hall before you have to work.'

'Then how am I going to have time to eat here?'

'I'll have the house-elf make it to go,' Malfoy replied easily. Harry twitched the shower curtain to the side as Malfoy left the bathroom and opened the door from Harry's bedroom to the rest of his little flat. 'I'm leaving the room now,' he called over his shoulder. The door closed behind him.

Harry waited a moment to see if Malfoy would come back, but was suitably convinced that he wouldn't after a few minutes of nothing. Getting out of the shower, Harry ran a comb through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to make it behave before pulling on the clothes Malfoy had laid out on his bed and rushing to his kitchen.

"Here," Malfoy said, shoving a toasted bacon and egg sandwich into Harry's left hand, and a mug of black coffee into his right. 'Take it and go, you're nearly late. We're having lunch in The Three Broomsticks."

Nodding his thanks and assent, Harry all but ran out the front door, apparating to Hogsmede as soon his feet hit the pavement of the alleyway outside.

Harry was fortunate in that he had run into Headmistress McGonagall on his way into the school, and she had insisted on escorting the flushed and panting professor to his first class.

'How was you holiday, Mr. Potter," McGonagall asked as Harry stuffed the sandwich Malfoy had handed him into his mouth. "I hear you have a new boyfriend."

Harry nodded and swallowed. 'Hugh," he said. 'He's actually the one who got me here nearly on time today. I'd forgotten that school started up again.'

McGonagall smiled. 'And I suppose he's the one responsible for you eating a proper breakfast for once as well?'

Glancing at his half-eaten sandwich Harry nodded again, albeit more reluctantly. 'Yeah, he got me up, put me in the shower, laid out my clothes, and had breakfast ready to go by the time I was dressed.'

'He sounds like a real catch, Harry,' McGonagall said with a small smile. 'Much better than that Hufflepuff you dated a couple years back. Don't let this one go, hmm?'

Harry laughed. 'I don't think Hermione, Ginny and Fleur would ever forgive me – they're already looking at bride's maid dresses.'

McGonagall smiled once more before stopping. "I'll leave you to it then, Professor Potter," she said formally, gesturing towards the open door of the same classroom Harry remembered having many Transfigurations classes in. "Good luck in the new year."

Harry nodded, and entered the room, glad he had finished his sandwich before they'd reached the doorway. And really, the sandwich _had_ been very thoughtful of Malfoy. Perhaps Harry would be able to persuade Malfoy to come over sometime so he could return the favour. They could start with a dinner cooked by Harry himself, and move onto a dessert in the living room. Malfoy would sit next to Harry, and the two would talk for hours before Malfoy would turn to him and say: "Harry, I want you to know that – Professor Potter?"

Harry blinked, and looked down to meet the eyes of a first year Hufflepuff. Clearing his throat, Harry sat his mug down on the desk at the front of the room, and raised a questioning eyebrow at the young boy.

"Um," said the boy. 'May I use the loo?'

Harry sighed and settled back on the desk, wondering, for the first but not last time that day, why he'd become a teacher.

Left to his own devices in Harry Potter's house, Draco did what any self-respecting Slytherin would do. He went through Potter's things.

Initially, he had had to deal with Potter's house-elf asking him uncomfortably personal questions about his and Potter's relationship, but a few well placed hexes had cleared _that_ up.

As it turned out, Potter was remarkably boring. He had no smut rags anywhere Draco had searched, no dirty photos in any of the shoeboxes under his bed, and no sex toys in his sock drawer. It was, Draco found, quite disappointing.

He had actually thought about going home, but as noon grew nearer and nearer it seemed increasingly pointless to leave Potter's house, only to apparate to Hogsmede minutes after arriving in his own.

And that was when he found what he'd been looking for.

Or, the sort of thing he'd been looking for at least.

Tucked away at the back of one of Potter's bookshelves – who kept their wanking material out in the open like that anyway? – was an ancient copy of Playwitch.

Tucking it into his robes, Draco gave Potter's blue couches a smug smile, and left to meet Potter himself at The Three Broomsticks.

"Sorry I'm late, Malfoy," a somewhat flustered Potter said, sitting down across from Draco. The two men were seated in the back corner of The Three Broomstick, tucked out of sight. "I just had a third year Slytherin - Gryffindor class – absolute torture!"

Draco snorted and took a sip of the coffee he'd harassed the waitress into getting him. Usually, The Three Broomsticks only served tea, but he had his ways.

"Surely we weren't the awful when we were their age, Malfoy?" Potter transfigured one of his buttons back into its original form.

"We were probably worse," Draco admitted. "And don't call me Malfoy, in public I'm Hugh."

"Right, well Hugh then – have you ordered you lunch yet?" Potter picked up the one page menu from the table. "Oh good, they still have my favourite sandwich."

"The menu here hasn't changed since _McGonagall_ was a girl, Potter," Draco sneered. "Except for the unfortunate addition of the Potter Platter," he added after a moments pause, studying his own menu. "Which is apparently your new favourite. Best get that then."

Potter wrinkled his nose. "The Potter Platter? A pulled pork sandwich, chips, a pickle and a Fizzy Whizz Pop? I don't even like pork."

"According to this you do," Draco glanced up and smiled at the waitress who was making her way to their table. "_Harry_."

"Harry?" Potter looked up and spotted the waitress. "Oh. Er, well I think I'll get the grilled cheese anyway, _Hugh_."

When the waitress arrived, she found the two men smiling tightly at one and other, and wasted not a moment before asking: "Are you ready to order? The usual, Mr. Potter?"

Draco watched amusedly as Potter turned his insincere smile on the waitress and nodded. "Please."

"And you, Mr… Er, sorry, sir. The papers don't have your name yet."

"Call me Hugh. And I'll have what he's having," he nodded in Potter's general direction. "He's been here often enough, he should know what's good and not."

The waitress smiled and walked away, but not before introducing herself as Kim.

"Did we go to school with her?" Draco asked as soon as she was out of earshot.

"No," Harry answered. "At least, I don't think so. Why?"

"Well," Draco answered, frowning. "If she's not a friend of yours then why would she introduce herself like that?"

Potter gave Draco a disbelieving look. "Are you serious?" he asked.

"Of course," Draco answered promptly. "If she'd not an old friend, why should I care enough to remember her name? It's not like she's an influential person or someone I'd like to shag anytime soon."

"She's being _polite_, Malfoy. You gave her your name, she gave you hers. I thought Pureblood children were educated in proper etiquette?"

"We are," Draco scoffed. "Lesson one, don't associate with commoners."

Potter made an odd noise deep in the back of his throat.

After an extremely frustrating and largely fruitless lunch with Malfoy, Harry walked back to Hogwarts and tried to ignore the feeling of dread building up within him. It had less to do with being pulled out of his own time, and more to do with seventh year Ravenclaws and a certain blue-haired bloke who was currently trudging up to Hogwarts with him.

"How long until we reach the school, Potter?" Malfoy moaned irritably.

"You tell me, Malfoy – you went here too!" Harry reminded him shortly. "Why are you coming anyway?"

"The _library_," Malfoy said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I need access to the Hogwart's library, and you're my ticket in. Get me a meeting with the Headmistress and a signed permission sheet Potter, that dining room is not going to solve itself."

"Of course," Harry groaned, rolling his eyes. "The library, how obvious. What makes you think I can even get your in?"

"You're Harry Potter."

"Your point being?"

"They're not going to stop Harry Potter's boyfriend from using the library as long as he goes through all the proper channels, and doesn't just burst in and deprive Ravenclaws everywhere of their lifeblood."

As they drew closer to the gates of Hogwarts, Harry's worry over his next class grew larger and larger.

"Do you think," he ventured as they entered the ground of the magnificent school. "That if we turn back now and tell everyone we shagged the day away they'd fire me?"

"No," Malfoy snorted. "Why?"

"Ravenclaws," Harry sighed. "Seventh years."

"Don't you have a lesson plan worked out, Potter? A guideline to follow?"

"Probably not. Maybe if I looked somewhere. I still wouldn't know how to properly cast any of the spells though, let alone teach them."

"So tell them to use the block as a study period. Assign research projects – just get through the day, Potter. Hopefully we'll be back to our own times soon."

Harry nodded pensively and pursed his lips. "If we're here, then where are our other selves? The versions of us that belong in this timeline?"

Malfoy shrugged. "In our timeline I would imagine. At least they know what it is they're supposed to be doing."

"How do you figure?" Harry asked as the entered the school.

"Well, they've already lived through it once, and they know we'll eventually find the solution to this problem."

"Will we?"

"It's either that or create a paradox with our future selves growing to when we switched, and then going back again forever. I doubt the universe will let time work that way, so we're sure to find an answer somewhere."

"So what are we looking for in the library?" Harry asked, paling. "I'll give my Ravenclaws the day off to do their homework, and help you in the library. That way, there's no need to go through McGonagall – we can just say that you're helping me."

Malfoy smirked. "Perfect. We'll be looking in the restricted section – languages, especially ones with runic alphabets. We can try looking up blood magic too, but I doubt there will be anything worthwhile in the books kept in Hogwarts. None of the _really_ foul stuff at least."

"Does this count as really foul stuff, then?" Harry asked.

Malfoy nodded. "This spell could easily destroy the fabric of space and time if done incorrectly. Even a small alteration in a symbols could be deadly for the victims and inflictors of this curse."

"More than one person cast it?"

Again, Malfoy nodded. "Yes. It's too complex for any one person to pull off alone. I hope you teach in McGonagall's old room."

Harry paused a bit at this pseudo-sequitur, before taking in his surroundings and laughing. "Yes, it's my classroom now. Want to go ahead to the library? I can meet you there as soon as I've dismissed my class."

"Are you kidding?" Malfoy asked, smirking. "I want to see the great Professor Potter in action."

Harry sighed. This was going to be a long day.

Draco sat on Potter's desk as the other man dismissed his class, perfectly aware that all eyes were on him and not the obviously frustrated professor.

"Off to the library, Harry?" he questioned gleefully, seeing many of the Ravenclaws' eyes light up. "Shall we leave your class here to catch up on their homework?"

Potter shot him a grateful look as his class groaned in unison. "Sorry," Potter explained. "I've got some research to do. Hugh's helping me with it, and it'd be an even bigger help if you'd sit in here and behave while we go to the library. I know it's a double period, but you're welcome to leave halfway through. When you do, don't all rush to the library at once, please." The class giggled nervously.

"Why can't we help you with your research?" a young man from the front row asked. "_He's_ not a professor, and he's helping you." The first 'he' was said with a surprising amount of disdain, most of which Draco attributed to his hair. _Although,_ Draco thought reluctantly, _a portion might be because of my status as Potter's boyfriend_.

"Don't let the hair fool you," Potter said in an almost conspiratorial fashion. "Hugh's quite the little brainiac. His speciality, however, is not, as it happens, Transfigurations. That is where I come in. Our project is too advanced for this class, I'm afraid, although you're all excellent students."

Mr. Know-it-All in the front row looked less than satisfied, but Draco was feeling surprisingly smug. "Right," he said, hopping off the desk. "Let's head down, Harry." He made sure to draw the name out. "Your students are practically adults now, I'm sure they can handle an hour of study time without supervision." A little extra reminder of who, exactly, was making the front page with Potter couldn't hurt.

"Of course," Potter replied, smiling at the class. "The library's just this way…"

Draco followed, mentally congratulating Potter for remembering that he wasn't supposed to know where the library was.

It had been a long, hard day of research, and when he wasn't looking directly at it, Draco was certain he could see Ravenclaws staring through the chinks in the nearest bookshelf. They had had a few promising finds, all of which had amounted to nothing, so when Draco found another guide that seemed to be what they were looking for ,he wasn't all that excited. Then he read it again.

And again.

And again.

"I…I think I have it," Draco said breathlessly, poring over the words again.

"Really?" Potter asked, absently as he flipped through a book of Blood Magic rituals. "Have you read it through a second time yet?"

"Yes, Potter," Draco snapped. "I've read through it _five_ times, and this is it! This is what we've been searching for!"

Potter reached over and grabbed the book, reading through everything on the page, eyes getting wider and wider as he went.

"How...?" he finally managed to choke out.

"I don't know!" Draco cried. "But do you know what this means?"

Potter shook his head mutely.

"This means we're free! We have the key to unlock the mystery that is my dining room! With this we can decode the floor and find a way back!" Draco felt like dancing, like grabbing Potter up and swirling around the room with him, like holding the other man in his arms and bending his head just that little bit before leaning forward and –

"Gentlemen!"

Potter, Draco realised, was just as excited as he and had, at some point, started yelling too.

"Yes, Madam Pince?" Potter winced, holding the book behind his back like a three year-old who had just been caught stealing from a cookie jar.

"I would think that, after all your years here, you would know and respect the rules of the library, Professor," the librarian snapped. "And if your _guest_ would kindly use his _indoor_ voice we would all benefit. Now, _out_."

"But," Potter began. "Madam Pince – we need to use –"

"_Everybody_ needs to use the library, Professor Potter, and you and your _boyfriend_ are not helping those of us who use it while respecting the rules that go along with the privilege." She enunciated the word 'boyfriend' with a certain amount of disdain that made Draco bristle.

"Well," he said stiffly, sweeping the unneeded books into a pile. "It's obvious that we're not wanted here, Harry. Shall we go?"

Nodding, Potter backed out of the library, book behind his back, as Draco stared down Madam Pince. After a moment, he snorted and turned.

"Harry!" he called, waving a hand in the air, half to annoy the librarian by being loud and half to get Potter's attention. "Wait up!"

Feeling a bit like his teenage self, Draco rushed from the library, grabbing the book from Potter has he flew by. "Come on, _Harry_!" he called over his shoulder. "Let's go! We've got _a_ _lot_ of work still ahead of us!"

Draco decided to ignore how easily Potter's first name rolled off his tongue, and the way Potter's eyes lit up when he laughed.


	7. A time to weep, and a time to laugh

**Chapter 6: In Which the Unhappiest of Truths is Revealed**

_A time to weep, and a time to laugh;  
- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8_

'Fuck, Potter,' Draco growled. 'It's too tight.'

'Oh, come on,' Potter snapped, wincing as his head collided with the ceiling of the small passage they had squeezed in to. 'You think this is any better for me?'

'Do you two have _any_ idea how amusing you are?' Pansy asked, leaning on the doorway to the shaft.

Potter blushed and Draco sneered, pointedly ignoring the heat on his own face. '_Pansy_,' he growled. 'Do you not have somewhere to _be?_ Perhaps a _job_ to do?'

'No, nowhere,' she replied as the two men shimmied down the passage. 'Is there a reason behind you two embarrassing yourselves?'

'Yes,' Draco protested as he shifted uncomfortably against Potter. 'This passage goes around the dining room. We're going to take pictures so that we can work on decoding the spell.'

'And you both need to do this because?'

Draco growled and kicked Potter's shin, pushing ahead of him. 'Because I don't trust him to take the pictures, and he wants to come.'

Pansy snorted.

'Shut up, Parkinson.'

XoX

By the time they had taken, developed, and laid out all the photographs, it was time for dinner.

'Draco, I'm hungry,' Pansy whinged as she and Draco watched Potter charm the photographs to stick to the table. 'You need to get house-elves.'

'Don't you have a mansion full of servants and a husband to feed you?' Draco asked tiredly.

Pansy wrinkled her nose. 'No, Oliver's out of town. I'm free to bother you.'

'Of course. Well, I could do with some food myself,' Draco paused for a moment, looking up at Harry – _fuck, Potter - _standing over the pictures of his dining room with a furrowed brow. 'Potter?'

Potter looked up, a puzzled expression on his face.

'Are you hungry?'

'Oh,' Potter said, looking completely surprised. 'Sure, I guess.'

'Perfect,' Pansy said, getting up from the couch she had shared with Draco. 'I'll see you boys later then.'

'What?' Draco asked, startled.

'I _do_ have a job to do, you know,' Pansy chastised as she withdrew a pair of white, silk gloves from her purse. 'Wear those blue robes, Draco, and have fun.'

Raising her wand, she Apparated away, leaving two _very_ bewildered men behind her.

XoX

'That's the _'blue robe'_?' Harry snorted, when Malfoy _finally_ stepped out of his bedroom.

'Yes,' Malfoy answered stiffly. 'Problem?'

Harry shook his head mutely, grinning like a mad man. The robes were a smoky blue – almost grey, really – and had black and silver trim around the outside. Malfoy wore a silvery white shirt under them, and the silky material showed through holes cut out of the sleeves and across the chest where the robes laced up. He had topped the whole ensemble off with plain, black pants and an ornate silver ear cuff.

Some of Harry's laughter escaped. 'I take it we're going to someplace fancy then? And a Wizarding restaurant?'

Malfoy shot him a dirty look and walked regally down the hall. 'Yes,' he said. 'We're going to my favourite restaurant, and _your_ competition, _L'Argent_.'

'Sounds French,' Harry said, ambling down the hall after Malfoy.

'It is, and _quite_ expensive. You're paying.'

'Excuse me? You're the one who invited _me_, Malfoy – not the other way around. Why would I pay?' Harry asked crossly. Not that he really minded paying – it wasn't like he was doing much else with his money – but it was the principle of the thing.

'Please, Potter – _Pansy_ was the one who started this. If you want to blame someone, blame her.'

'I don't want to _blame_ anyone, Malfoy. I just want to eat. Can't we order in pizza or something? I do have school tomorrow you know.'

'I'm supposed to eat _pizza_ in _these_?' Malfoy turned and gestured to his ornate robes. 'I think not, Potter.'

'You could always change,' Harry mumbled half-heartedly as he and Malfoy continued down the hall.

'No, we're going for French food, Potter. And I'm wearing the prissy robes. Get out your coin bag, and start calling me Hugh.'

XoX

L'Argent was delighted to move _the_ Harry Potter and his boyfriend up to the front of the line, and into a private booth. Or what would have been a private booth had L'Argent's owner not promptly waddled down from his office and come to say hello or, as it turned out, _bonjour_.

Harry, sipping a remarkably cheap – in quality, not price – red wine, was entertaining thoughts of taking French lessons when Malfoy suddenly turned to him and smiled. Harry blinked.

'Oh,' Malfoy cooed. 'Harry and I are _very_ happy together, aren't we Harry?' Malfoy took Harry's hand in his own and squeezed it warningly.

'Yes,' Harry said promptly. 'Very happy.'

Malfoy turned and smiled tightly at the rotund man in front of them. '_Adieu, monsieur.'_

The man stood there for a moment, eyeing up Malfoy. 'Indeed,' he finally said, accent heavy. '_Bon soir, _Hugh.'

As the man walked away, Malfoy shuddered. 'Disgusting!' he spat.

'What?' Harry asked, staring at their connected hands.

'That lecher was hitting on me, Potter! And he was none too subtle about what he wanted from me either. Can you _imagine_?'

Unfortunately, Harry could, and he was also rapidly becoming aware that the rather grotesque images of Malfoy straddling the obese man filling his mind were not only disgusting, but raising something akin to jealously in his stomach. 'Gross,' Harry said, wrinkling his nose. 'Don't do it.'

Malfoy's jaw dropped. 'Are you _insane_, Potter? Of course I'm not going to do it! Why would you… that's just _so_ gross. I can't even begin to express my disgust with you right now.'

Harry shrugged. 'I'm just saying. And besides, you did say that this was your favourite restaurant; I'm sure if you were sleeping with the owner you'd have plenty of opportunities to eat here.'

Malfoy snorted. 'I don't think I'm ever coming here again, Potter, not after _that_. What a way to start a meal! And I can't believe he did that right in front of my _boyfriend_.'

Harry felt an unexpected spark of happiness rising up in his chest, and promptly stomped it down. 'Well,' he said, picking up his heavy menu and raising it to block Malfoy's face from view. 'We're not _really_ going out, are we? Maybe he's just more perceptive then the rest of the world.'

The menu blocked his view of the hurt that flickered across Malfoy's face.

XoX

Draco was sitting in his living room, the photographs still laid out on the table in front of him, tapping a nervous foot against the oak frame of the couch. _Don't be stupid_, he berated himself. _You'll solve this mystery, you'll get home, you'll forget all about Potter and live your life as you were meant to live it._

He sighed and brought his tea cup to his lips.

Twenty minutes later, when Potter _finally_ stumbled into his living room via Floo, the first thing out of Potter's mouth was: 'Fuck.'

Draco looked up, startled from his cold tea. 'What?' he asked, sardonically. 'Kids giving you trouble again?'

'Yes,' Potter huffed, brushing soot off his robes. 'There's this one Ravenclaw – you met him yesterday – he follows me around _everywhere_. I swear, I had to find the staff toilet because I couldn't use the normal ones!'

Draco's mouth twitched as Potter stormed over and collapsed on the couch. The – until that moment – pristine, white couch. Draco winced. 'Well, it's obvious, isn't it?'

'What is?' Potter asked, fixing himself a cup of tea and casting a warming charm on it wordlessly.

'He has a crush on you.'

Potter turned red. 'W-what?' he stuttered. 'Are you _mad_? Why would he have a crush on _me_?'

'You're kidding, right?' Potter's bemused expression told Draco that Potter was very much _not_ kidding. 'Oh brother.'

'What? What '_oh brother'_?' Potter asked defensively.

'You're _Harry Potter_, Potter. I'm sure most of the girls and a few of the boys have entertained fantasies of you sweeping them off their feet since before puberty!'

'But _why_?' Potter seemed honestly confused, which was in turn confusing Draco.

'Because they see you as their saviour,' Draco explained. 'You're the one who saved them from the Dark Lord, you're the one to whom they look in their time of need. Add to that your… physical attributes and, well, perfect teenage heart-throb material. You just happen to be teaching one of your more… dedicated fans.'

Potter wrinkled his nose. 'What a load of bollocks, Malfoy,' he snorted. 'No one thinks of me in _that_ way.'

Draco shrugged. 'If you choose not to believe me, that's your decision, but it _is_ true,' he paused. 'Now, shall we get to work?'

XoX

'We'll start here,' Malfoy said, pointing to the centre of the photographs. 'Get out the book, Potter.'

Harry sighed and reached into his bag, pulling out the dusty tome he and Malfoy had liberated from the library the day before. 'Where should I put this?' he asked.

'Anywhere,' Malfoy answered distractedly. 'Here, give it to me.' He held out a hand.

Harry handed the other man the book and sat back to watch as Malfoy got to work, flipping through the book of symbols in search of the complicated looking knot that sat in the centre of the dining room.

'Can't you use magic to do that?' Harry asked after ten minutes and twenty pages of searching.

'And what spell would I use, Potter?' Malfoy snapped irritably. 'No, some things have to be done the old fashioned way.'

Harry sighed and began tracing the symbols in the photographs with his fingers.

'What do you think you're _doing_, Potter?' Malfoy exclaimed a moment later, grabbing his wrist. 'If you don't want to cast the spell again, most probably killing the both of us in the process, I suggest you keep you hands to yourself.'

Harry blushed and withdrew his hand. 'I'm _bored_,' he whinged.

Malfoy snorted and threw the heavy book at him. 'Then you look for the symbol, I'll sit here and watch.'

Harry growled, but began searching regardless. Two minutes later, he found it. 'Is this it?' he asked Malfoy, who looked like he was settling in for the long haul.

'What?' Malfoy asked, snatching back the book. 'You found it already?'

And indeed, Harry had found the correct symbol which, most unhelpfully, read: _'centre, focus.'_

Harry sighed and sat back as Malfoy began looking up a second symbol. It really _was_ going to be a long evening.

XoX

Two hours later, Harry had yet to touch the book a second time, and Malfoy's blue hair was all over the place.

'Do you think,' Harry began wistfully, 'that I could go get us some dinner?'

Malfoy barely glanced up from the book and just made a shooing motion in Harry's general direction.

'All right,' Harry said happily. 'I'll be back in no time at all. Can I get whatever I want to?'

Malfoy nodded, and Harry was certain that the other man wasn't really processing what Harry was saying. Lucky him.

'Pizza it is then. Or maybe chicken. I know a good Thai place in London. I'll use your fireplace.'

He was out of the house before Malfoy turned the next page.

XoX

In the end, Harry went to a Chinese restaurant a couple of streets down from Grimmauld Place.

'Harry!' the owner, an elderly Chinese man named Winston Chow, exclaimed when he walked in. 'It's been a month, we were starting to worry about you!'

Harry smiled. 'No need to worry,' he assured the old man. 'I've just been caught up in the holiday season. Ginny, Hermione and Fleur have been keeping me busy, and now that school's started again…'

'Not to mention your new boyfriend, right Harry?' Winston's daughter, Louise, asked, coming out from the back of the restaurant to greet him. Winston's youngest son was a Muggleborn wizard who had entered his first year during Harry's fifth. When Harry had first entered the restaurant during what should have been his seventh year at Hogwarts, they had been quick to let him know that they knew he was a wizard. He was, after all, Harry Potter, and instantly recognizable to someone who had heard nothing but how great he was from their youngest son for three years – and Harry had taken to coming back to the place whenever he was in London.

'Hello to you too, Louise,' Harry laughed. 'He's actually the reason I'm here. He's helping me with some research and we're in desperate need of food.'

Louise smiled. 'I'll get right on it, Harry. You stay out here and keep this sad old man company.' She patted her father affectionately on the shoulder and turned back to the kitchen.

'Louise has a new boyfriend,' Winston confided. 'She's been happy ever since. Her mother doesn't approve, of course.'

It was strange how little this small section of Harry's life had changed. Harry smiled and fell into the familiar conversation. 'What's wrong with this one?' he asked.

Winston glanced around, as if he expected his wife to appear out of nowhere. 'He's a _carpenter_.'

Harry winced.

'And he's _white_.'

Harry drew a sharp breath.

'And he's _not a practising Christian._'

'And Mrs. Chow hasn't chased him away yet?'

Winston chuckled. 'Mrs. Chow only knows him by reputation so far. We'll see what happens in the future. For now, Louise is happy; she has a boyfriend of whom her mother disapproves.'

Harry smiled as Louise came out and handed him a bag full of food containers. 'I hear you have a new boyfriend.'

Louise raised an eyebrow. 'I hear my father talks too much and you owe me eight quid.'

Harry took out his wallet and paid, leaving the building with a smile still on his face, only to run right into Malfoy.

'What are you doing, Potter?' Malfoy asked angrily, glaring at him with cold grey eyes.

'Er,' Harry said. 'Getting dinner?' He held the bag of food in front of him.

Malfoy sniff disdainfully. 'Fine,' he huffed. 'Let's go. Make sure I'm actually paying attention next time, Potter.'

XoX

Four hours later, they had their first breakthrough.

'They're names!' Draco cried, dropping the book and turning to the photographs. 'Potter, get over here!'

Potter hurried over from the fireplace he hadd been watching since he had finished eating (about two hours before). 'What are names?' he asked.

'These,' Draco traced a finger around the intricate strings of symbols that ran along the outer rim of the diagram. 'That's why I couldn't find them in the book, they're _names_.'

'Whose names though? And why are our names written in English?'

Draco paused for a moment. 'I think these,' he ran his finger along the line of symbols again, 'are the names of the casters. And our names are in English because we didn't acknowledge any runic forms of our names as belonging to us, so they had to use the common forms.'

Potter nodded.

'But I'm guessing on most of that. I think we need to break these strings up into individual symbols and work from there.'

XoX

An hour later, they had ten names.

'Bellatrix Lestrange, Peter Pettigrew, Lord Voldemort, Narcissa Malfoy, Antonin Dolohov, Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Agustus Rookwood, and…' Potter trailed off, looking up to meet Draco's eyes. '_Lucius Malfoy_? But he was in jail when this was cast!'

Draco nodded, frowning. 'I don't understand it either, it shouldn't be possible for him to be on that list. Unless! It's possible that the casters _didn't_ have to be present when the spell was cast. It's possible that half of these people didn't even know they'd been included in the casting until _after_ the spell drained their power.' Draco knew his voice sounded entirely too hopeful, but he couldn't help it. Sure, he hadn't parted with his parents on the best of terms, but after everything he had done to try and keep them safe from the wrath of the Dark Lord in his sixth year, it hurt to think that they had willingly taken part in this spell.

Potter gave him a commiserating look. 'It's possible that it was help cast the spell or die as well, Malfoy,' he said helpfully.

Draco growled. 'Well, it's not as if that helped mother, she ended up dead anyway.'

'And she didn't take you out of her will,' Potter added.

Draco paused for a moment and deflated. 'You're right. Even if they cast the charm on purpose, at least she left me the family fortune.'

Potter laughed. 'See? There you go. She could have left it to her sister or her niece, but she left it to you.'

'Right,' Draco snorted. 'Because my mother was going to leave the entire Malfoy fortune to the daughter of a Muggleborn.'

'All right,' Potter said, holding up his hands in a gesture or surrender. 'So maybe she wouldn't have left it to Tonks, but she might have left it to her sister or one of her brothers-in-law. The point of the matter is that she left it to you, not to them. So cheer up, Malfoy, things aren't quite as grim as they seem.'

'Except for the part where we're stuck in the future with almost no knowledge of how to find our way to our own time,' Draco sighed. 'But other than that, yes, things are positively rose-coloured.'

'You don't have to be sarcastic, Malfoy,' Potter grumbled, picking up the book and burying his head in it.

Draco smirked.

XoX

When Potter gasped, Draco's head shot up from the back of the couch. 'What is it?' he asked. 'What did you find?'

Potter gave him a sad look and passed over the book, pointing to the appropriate symbol.

_Death,_ it said. _Trigger._

Draco dropped the book. 'I… you mean?' He looked down at the diagram, and ran his finger around the circle of names until he came to the one that tied them all to the rest of the complex spell.

'The death of the casters triggers the spell,' Potter said, tone neutral. 'Draco, I'm sorry…'

At any other time, Draco would have commented on the use of his first name. 'But… my father's in jail; he's mad, not dead.'

Potter shook his head sadly. 'Not according to this.'

'Fuck!' Draco exclaimed, hurling the book across the room. 'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!' He ran a hand through his hair roughly. 'I… that's all for today, Potter,' he said, turning to leave the room.

'Malfoy! Mal – Draco!'

'Shut up!' Draco screamed before groaning and biting down on the rage he felt. 'Just… go home, Potter. I'll see you tomorrow.'

Potter was looking at him strangely, a worried expression on his face.

'I'll be fine, just go. I need to be alone to break things right now.'

Potter nodded. 'I'll see you tomorrow,' he re-affirmed.

'Yes,' Draco agreed wearily. 'Tomorrow.'

Potter left, and Draco set about breaking all of his mother's china.


	8. A time to mourn, and a time to dance

Author's Note: I'm sorry this chapter is so late! For some reason, I had trouble writing it!

**Chapter 7: In Which Matches Are Played With**

_A time to mourn, and a time to dance;  
__- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8_

Sitting alone in a room full of broken porcelain was not fun. In fact, it was downright depressing. Draco was surrounded on all sides; broken pottery was everywhere. After some trial and error, he'd even managed to wrench some of the more vocal Malfoy paintings off the wall and destroy their canvases (his Great Uncle Bartholomew was currently rooming with Great Aunts Beatrice and Ophelia).

'What's your problem, boy?'

Draco rolled his eyes and twisted to tell off whichever portrait had made it through his fury unscathed, and screamed. Behind him stood an immense stone gargoyle, hands on its hips.

'Your Great-Great-Great-Grandmother was made of sterner stuff than you,' the grotesque statue sneered. 'Didn't even blink.'

'My Great-Great-Great-Grandmother was insane!' Draco snapped in retaliation. 'She went around claiming to have talked…to…' Draco trailed off as a new kind of dread filled him.

'Claiming to have talked to one of the gargoyles that sat on the manor gates?' the statue suggested, raising a stone eyebrow.

'I'm going crazy,' Draco said flatly. 'Does this mean I'm _not_ really in the future, and I _don't_ really think Potter's hot?'

'Wrong, no and no,' the gargoyle said, heaving itself through the broken china and onto a slightly damaged, but hearty, chaise lounge. 'You are not crazy and neither was your Great-Great-Great Grandmother. I'll never get you wizards: you can fly around on brooms, but you refuse to believe a gargoyle could be talking to you.'

Draco blinked. 'Dumbledore's gargoyle didn't talk,' he said petulantly.

'Yes, well, Albus Dumbledore probably wasn't willing to use Dark magic to make it talk,' the gargoyle said, rolling his stone eyes and setting a horrific grating noise echoing about the room. 'Now, do you want to know why I'm here?'

'Will I be visited by three ghosts?' Draco asked warily. 'Are you here to show me how everyone else would be if I were dead?'

'You already know how they'd be if you were dead, Draco, or did the time you've been gone not occur to you? The only people who would miss you, were you to die today, are Potter and Pansy Wood.'

Draco perked up. 'Are you here to discourage me from pursuing Potter?' he asked eagerly.

'Wrong again,' replied the gargoyle. 'I'm here because you're destroying valuable heirlooms.'

'Oh,' Draco said, disappointed. 'Is that what my Great-Great-Great Grandmother did too?'

'No,' said the gargoyle. 'She got lost in the rose garden.'

Malfoy Manor had once been famous for its gardens, especially its rose beds. Draco could still remember his mother taking the wives of his father's 'associates' out back to show off. And, although the gardens currently resembled those of Sleeping Beauty's castle, Draco could also remember a certain statue sitting atop a certain fountain.

'You're from the centre of the Grand Fountain!' Draco cried accusingly. 'The one I was never allowed to go swimming in!'

'The one you shagged Blaise Zabini against?' the gargoyle suggested.

'Yes! That – oh, ew.'

'I'm glad we agree.' The gargoyle had surprisingly human mannerisms, Draco reflected as a stone hand reached down to brush a particle of imaginary dust from a stone chest. 'I'm Stone, by the by, and I've been listening in on your conversations for the past couple of days.'

'Stone?' Draco sniggered. 'Really?'

'Really.'

Draco took a moment to bask in the superior feeling the gargoyle's name gave him before turning back to the issue at hand. 'Listening in?'

'Yes. I was created to protect the Malfoy line, and as you seem to be the last Malfoy, I decided to wade in and let my two-pence be known.'

'Two-pence?'

'It's an expression I picked up during the Order occupation of Malfoy Manor, Muggle I believe.'

Draco winkled his nose distastefully. 'Aren't you supposed to be a Malfoy? Shouldn't you avoid influences like that?'

'I said I protected Malfoy's, not that I was one. And really Draco, this coming from someone who spent his exile with _American_ Muggles and even managed to pick up an accent.'

Strangely enough, Draco felt as though he were being scolded by his father. Not that his father had had time for scolding really; mostly he'd given Draco cold looks and had a house-elf take away his toys for a day. 'I didn't _mean_ to,' Draco mumbled, looking down at the ground.

'I'm sure. Now, do you want my opinion?'

Draco shrugged. 'Sure, what do you think I should do?'

'Burn it down.'

Draco looked up sharply. 'What?'

'Burn down Malfoy Manor.'

XoX

Harry had waited for five hours the next morning, and Malfoy hadn't Flooed or Owled, or shown up at his front door and drunk all his cooking Sherry.

Five _hours_.

Now, he was sulking at The Burrow. Or, if not sulking, looking despondent and glaring at Ginny every time she tried to ask him about 'Hugh'.

'What do you think happened?' Hermione was whispering just a hair too loudly to not be overheard.

'They must have fought,' Ginny murmured back. Honestly! If they were going to talk about him as if he wasn't in the room, couldn't they be _quiet_ about it?

'We didn't _fight_!' Harry called to the small group. 'Leave me _alone_!'

'All right, Harry?'

Harry jumped and glanced warily over his shoulder at Charlie. 'No,' he said petulantly. 'They think I had a fight with _Hugh_.'

'Hugh? The American with blue hair, yeah?'

'Yeah.' Harry sighed.

Charlie reached down and grabbed Harry's hand, pulling him out of his seat. 'Stop sulking,' the muscular redhead commanded. 'Let's go to Diagon Alley. You can drown your sorrows in Fizzy Whiz Pop while we walk around.'

Harry sighed, again, and reluctantly nodded his agreement. Better to spend the day out shopping with Charlie than to spend it sulking – not _sulking_, he told himself firmly, just… sitting – at The Burrow listening to Ginny, Hermione and Fleur gossip about his imaginary love life.

XoX

After pinching himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming about talking to gargoyles named Stone instead of Potter's mouth, Draco decided to do something he _probably_ should have done around noon.

He Flooed Potter.

Who wasn't home.

'Fuck,' Draco said, running a hand through his blue hair. He'd promised to get in touch with Potter today, hadn't he? So shouldn't Potter have been someplace where he _could_ get in touch with him? Of course! Draco smiled and turned back to the fireplace. To The Burrow it was then.

When Draco reached the shack, Harry wasn't there.

'He went to Diagon Alley with Charlie,' Granger informed him cordially. 'Did you have a row?'

'Not really,' Draco said distractedly. Potter, in London with Charlie Weasley...the man who had kissed him on New Years Eve? Well, fuck that. 'Can I borrow your fireplace?'

It was with a strange sense of déjà vu that Draco asked the question. Fortunately, Granger stood aside as he cast a handful of Floo powder into the grate and called out his destination.

Damned if he was going to let a _Weasley_ have what was rightfully his.

XoX

'It's not a big deal or anything,' Harry said miserably, dragging his feet as he walked through the streets of Diagon Alley with Charlie. 'He just didn't Floo me or Owl me or _anything_.'

Harry wasn't the only miserable thing that day: it was pouring down rain. He actually had to question Charlie's sanity if he thought that walking in the wet cold would make Harry feel better, especially without an appropriate cloak on.

'That's too bad, Harry,' Charlie said, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders. 'Hey – there's a nice restaurant, do you want to get lunch?'

Harry blinked.

'What?'

'Do you want to get lunch? It's raining and you must be soaked without a cloak on – the restaurant will be warm and dry.'

Warm and dry _did_ sound pretty good, but Harry could be warm and dry and eating for _free_ at The Burrow. 'No thanks, Charlie,' he said, pushing away from the other man. 'I think I'll just head back to The –'

'Potter.'

'D – Hugh!' Harry exclaimed, turning to face the other – wet – man.

Holy _shit_.

Malfoy hadn't bothered to put a robe on, and was dressed in a plain white shirt and black dress trousers. Well, with the rain the shirt wasn't white so much as it was see through. And clingy. And _wet_.

'H-hi,' Harry stuttered. 'How are you feeling?'

'I don't know _Potter,_ how do you _think_ I'm feeling? My father is dead, my house is a death trap, my silk shirt is ruined, and you're out here consorting with _Charlie Weasley_,' Malfoy snapped, turning away. 'Come find me when you're through with your date.'

'Date? What date?' Harry asked.

Malfoy stopped and turned, mouth open in indignation. 'How stupid do you think I am, Potter?' he cried, walking forward and shoving Harry. 'Well fuck you, you dick! Stay the Hell away from me _and_ my manor!'

Harry stumbled back into Charlie and stood there for a food five minutes, shell-shocked.

By the time he had come to his senses, he was snug in Charlie's arms and Malfoy was out of sight.

XoX

'I'll burn it,' Draco growled, throwing his shirt to the ground. 'The whole thing.'

'Where's Potter?' Stone asked placidly, picking Draco's shirt up off the ground. 'Shouldn't you take all the stuff you need out of the manor before setting it one fire?'

'Potter's dead to me,' Draco growled. 'And who bloody cares about any of the shit in here? I'm going home.'

'Draco…'

'Don't you 'Draco' me, Stone! I'm the human one here; you're just a remarkably life-like statue!'

'And how do you think I got this way?'

Draco blinked.

'That's right, I was human once too – a Malfoy,' Stone sneered. 'Your Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great Uncle, as far as I can tell.'

Draco looked the gargoyle over. Other than the snarky personality, he could see no residue of anything Malfoy in Stone.

'You're Great-Great-Great...' he paused. 'My brother decided I was a blood traitor and bound my soul to the gargoyle which – at that point – sat atop the house. I live forever, but I'm stuck in the body of a gargoyle,' Stone shrugged. 'Until, that is, the manor is utterly destroyed.'

'Is that why you want me to burn it down? So that you'll be set free?'

'Well, yes,' the gargoyle said matter-of-factly. 'But I also think it will stop the spell.'

Draco sighed. 'Much as I'd enjoy setting something on fire right now, I haven't decoded all the symbols in the manor – how do I know that the charms won't just shut out the fire or that the fire won't make the spell worse?'

Stone shrugged again. 'You don't.'

XoX

Harry really _was_ sulking this time. And all right, maybe he _had_ been sulking last time too, but… well, but.

'Great,' he mumbled. 'Now he _hates_ me.'

'It's all right, Harry,' Hermione soothed. 'Charlie will go over and explain everything to him. Where's he staying?'

'Staying?' Harry asked.

'Oh, is he living here, then? I suppose that makes more sense. Just tell me the address and I'll have Charlie pop over.'

'Oh,' Harry said, sitting up straight. 'No, that's all right, Hermione. I can do it myself.'

'_Harry_,' Hermione scolded. 'Really, you're in no condition to have another confrontation with Hugh.'

'Sure I am,' Harry said, almost frantically. 'We have to talk through out issues like mature adults so that we can come to a mutual understanding of our relationship and where it's headed.'

Hermione blinked.

'It's the only way to make our relationship long-lasting and fulfilling!' Harry tried.

'Oh _Harry_!' Hermione exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. 'I knew you'd read that book on relationships eventually! Did you like it? Obviously it has helped you.'

_Relationship book_? Harry thought. _What relationship book_?

Hermione was happy though, and it looked like she was going to let him go, so it probably didn't matter. He needed to talk to Malfoy; the man had looked like he had been prepared to do something drastic.

'So… can I go now?' Harry asked cautiously.

'Yes,' Hermione beamed. 'Remember Chapter Six!'

Wondering if chapter six of whatever book Hermione had, apparently, given him would be of any relevance, even if he _had_ read it, Harry Flooed to his apartment, and from there to Malfoy Manor.

XoX

Draco was cleaning out his mother's jewellery when he heard footsteps come up behind him.

'Not now, Stone,' he said irritably. 'I'm cleaning out my mum's dressers.'

'Oh,' Potter said. 'Who's Stone?'

Draco turned and glared at Potter. 'What are you doing here, Potter?'

'I came here to apologise and to tell you there's nothing going on between me and Charlie,' Harry explained softly.

'Why would I care, Potter?' Draco asked, pulling a box of silk scarves from beneath an elegant wardrobe.

'I'm not sure, but I thought I should make that clear anyway,' he paused. 'What happened to the clothes you were wearing in Diagon Alley?'

'They were wet, ruined, and I didn't want to catch a cold. I'm heading back to my own time now, after all,' Draco answered snidely.

'You are?' Harry asked, surprised. 'Can I come too?'

'I expect you'll be pulled back when I break the spell,' Draco said reluctantly. 'Have fun with the rest of your life.'

'Er,' Harry said. 'You too, I guess.'

'Of course,' Draco said. 'Goodbye.' With that, Draco turned his back to Harry, flicking his wand to levitate all the clothing and jewellery he'd taken from his mum's rooms.

'Are you taking all that back with you, then?' Harry asked, pointedly ignoring Draco's hint and following him out of the room. 'Want some help breaking the spell or anything?'

'I can light a fire by myself, Potter,' Draco snapped. 'Go home and wait to be transported back to your own time.'

'Light a fire? Why are you lighting a fire?'

'I'm burning down the manor, if you must know,' Draco replied. 'Now shoo, I've still got my rooms to clean out.'

'I can't help?'

'No.' Draco left the room.

XoX

In hindsight, giving Malfoy a head start _probably_ hadn't been that good an idea.

Leaning on the gargoyle standing mysteriously in the hallway also turned out to be a bad decision.

'I say!' the gargoyle exclaimed. 'Watch where you put your hands, Potter!'

Harry leapt back from the statue, whipping his hands around behind his back. 'I didn't mean to!'

'I should hope not,' the gargoyle said, wiping imaginary particles of dust from its chest.

Harry blushed. 'I, um…'

'Stone?' Malfoy called, coming around the corner. 'Who are you – oh.'

'This young man just tried to feel me up,' the gargoyle – Stone – said, pointing n accusing finger at Harry. 'Shall I leave you to deal with him?'

'He was supposed to be gone already,' said Malfoy, glaring at Harry. 'Go away, Potter, I don't need your help.'

'Are you sure you should burn down the manor?' Harry asked, following behind Malfoy when he turned and walked away. 'I don't see the logic behind it.'

'Well, I hate this house,' Malfoy sneered. 'And Stone told me to.'

'Do you often listen to statuary? Because there was this one chatty little figurine in the trophy room at Hogwarts that was always saying…'

'Shut up.'

Harry shut his mouth and continued to trail meekly after Malfoy, albeit silently this time.

'Stone is my relative, a Great-Great-Uncle to the power of ten or something. It's quite confusing.'

'I'll say,' Harry agreed. 'You're related to a gargoyle? You don't look like it.'

'His soul is trapped within the gargoyle, you idiot!' Harry could practically _hear_ Malfoy's eyes rolling.

'Oh. Well, how does that make him an authority on what to do here?'

'Well, he would have seen the Death Eaters cast their spell.'

Harry froze.

'Exactly, Potter.'

'I… fuck. And he thinks we should burn down the manor?'

'No,' Draco said, shaking his head. 'He thinks _I_ should burn down the manor.'

XoX

Men and gargoyle stood outside Malfoy Manor, piles of riches surrounding them.

'This can't be everything,' Potter said dubiously, eyes scanning the relatively small pile of stuff. 'I mean, there has to be more.'

'The Ministry cleaned out a lot of it,' Draco explained. 'Plus my parents had a lot of the heirlooms and more expensive things put into Gringotts shortly after the war started. The Goblins don't care about Wizard politics, to them a vault is a vault, and unless you have the key you're not getting in.'

Potter nodded, casting a furtive look back at the manor. 'You're just going to…burn it? It's your childhood home.'

'And what a delightful childhood it was.' Draco sighed. 'Potter, I live in America now, I've even got the accent to prove it. There's no point in me keeping this big old house empty and alone when I'm perfectly happy with my life overseas and have no plans of ever returning here.'

'Oh,' Potter said. 'What about the land?'

'I'll sell it, I suppose,' Draco said, shrugging. 'It'll probably be worth more on the Muggle market anyway so getting rid of the manor is a good decision.'

'Are you sure?' Potter asked rather desperately. 'What if you want to come back to England in the future? Where will you stay?'

'With Pansy, I suppose,' Draco answered. 'Or in a hotel. If I'm desperate I'll let you know, all right?'

Potter bit his lip and nodded. 'But…what if this doesn't work?'

'You'll have a live-in boyfriend.'

'But the library – all the books you have? The dining room itself! If the fire destroys it, but doesn't break the spell, what will we do?'

'We'll get on with our lives,' Draco said firmly. 'I'll go back to New York, and you'll read as many Transfiguration books as you can. It's a chance we're both going to have to take.'

'Well,' Potter snapped. 'Thanks for asking me about taking said chance before deciding to go through with it!'

'I tried telling you about it!' Draco sneered. 'You were in the middle of a date!'

'I was not!' Potter protested. 'Fine!'

'Fine what?'

'Fine, light your house on fire!' Potter spat. 'See if I care!'

'_Incendio_,' Draco said calmly, pointing his wand at a manor wall.


End file.
